


Casket

by aylithe



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Casket of Ancient Winters, Gen, Jötunn Loki, Loki Does What He Wants, M/M In Last Chapter, Thor Is Not Stupid
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-17
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-01-11 05:18:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1169141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aylithe/pseuds/aylithe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thor's attack on Jötunheimr left the realm in chaos and the crown prince, Loki, injured. Seeking revenge and a weapon to aid Jötunheimr in the forthcoming war, Loki makes it his goal to steal back what is rightfully his as heir to the throne — the Casket of Ancient Winters. Jötunn!Loki. Experimental side project/predecessor to my other fic: <i>Jötunheimr</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I decided to write this on a whim a little before Christmas because, firstly, I was very bored one day, and secondly because I just love jötunn!Loki way too much. This can be considered a experimental run for my other fic I'm working on for the Marvel Universe, [_Jötunheimr_](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1166738).
> 
> Anyway, this is my fic of boredom with my very not-all-that-believable plot and silly situations and coincidences.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 15-06-'14

Whilst Loki didn’t find the landscapes of Jötunheimr boring, so to say, it was dark, unchanging, and it could be somewhat monotonous at times. It had been for the past few years, and so it was with great interest that he watched the raging light of the Bifröst touch down upon the ice. His head snapped up, curious as to why the Æsir had chosen to visit. The only usual visitors were the diplomatic parties that came every decade or so to cast an eye over the place. But it was too early for the diplomatic parties.

Loki stood, craning his neck to get a better view of the arrivals. He was small for a jötunn — something that wasn’t uncommon amongst his generation because of the strain of the Jötunheimr-Asgard War had placed upon many expecting parents — but what he lacked in size he made for in his skills of combat and magic. It was one of the many reasons he was a treasure of House Laufey. His familial lines and sweeping, regal horns indicating his status as Jötunheimr’s crown prince shadowed anyone’s doubts about his position and power; his height was not mentioned. His hair, long and black and threaded with silver, stirred in the wind as he padded towards his sire’s throne. He tilted his head to the side as he examined the five Æsir treading towards them through the ruins, their weapons glinting in the low light.

Where they walked had once been a road to Útgarðar, but it had crumbled away just like everything else to make Jötunheimr the desolate place She was today. They had taken the Fornvetr, and Jötunheimr had cried out in Her suffering, longing for the return of Her Blood.

His lip curled. “What do _they_ want?” he murmured to his sire.

Laufey growled lowly at him to remain silent, and his red eyes flashed a warning to his son. Loki slunk back into the shadows of the throne’s dais. It was unwise to cross his sire at any given time. So he turned to wait, somewhat impatiently, for the Æsir to arrive.

“Where are they?” one of them, the only female in the company, asked.

“Hiding, as cowards always do,” another said, cocky.

Loki bristled, and it was only his sire’s withering look that kept him from acting. Instead, he crouched next to the throne, glaring at the intruders as the came further into jötnar territory.

It was when they were too far from safety that Laufey finally spoke:

“You come a long way to die, Asgardians.” His voice was slow and grinding, something Loki found comforting yet intimidating at the same time.

One of the Æsir, their leader by the looks of him, stepped forward. Loki had always found the Æsir strange to look at. The clothing they wore, even in the height of their summers, did some job of hiding their dull skin. They were his height, and after spending his whole life craning his neck to talk to people, Loki found it disconcerting to look them dead in the eye.

This one was blond, and his eyes were the blue of the day’s sky. The ornate silver armour he wore glittered in the low light, and the red cape that hung from his shoulders spilt around his feet; Loki thought only of Æsir blood. In his hand was a huge war hammer, and it looked like the ás wanted to bury its flat, blunt head in Laufey’s very much.

“I am Thor Odinson,” the ás announced.

Loki’s eyes widened. So, this was the famed wielded of Mjölnir. He looked at him once more, this time casting a judging eye over him. Yes, there was the ideal warrior of Asgard: golden, muscled, strong; perfect. Surface things only. There was nothing there that would be able to catch the enemy off-guard.

“We know who you are,” Laufey growled.

“How did your people get into Asgard?” the ás, Thor, demanded.

Loki raised an eyebrow, and it was now he stepped forward. His shoulders were drawn back and his head held high. The silver-black keratin of his horns shone in the light, and his gaze met Thor’s own. Laufey did nothing to stop him as Loki said, joining his sire in the Allspeak, “The House of Odin is full of traitors.”

“Do not dishonour my father’s name with your lies!” Thor roared.

Loki was shoved back as Laufey now stood, towering over his heir as he spat, “Your father is a murderer and a thief! And why have you come here? To make peace?”

“We can make peace if you return what is rightfully ours,” Loki interjected, but his sire gave a snarl that rung through the area. Loki shrank back.

Laufey’s mouth twitched in a cruel smile; he had always been good at giving those unnerving smiles. “You long for battle; you crave it. You are nothing but a boy, trying to prove himself a man.”

Thor drew back much to Loki’s delight, and he leant forward to see his reaction better. Oh, that had been a blow to his pride.

Thor took a breath before saying, “This _boy_ has grown tired of your mockery.” His grip tightened on Mjölnir, and the jötnar who had gathered at the fringes of the courtyard stirred. Ice formed in their hands, shaping jagged weapons that could easily pierce Asgardian armour.

The woman stepped forward and hissed in Thor’s ear, “Thor, please; we must go, we are _outnumbered_.”

“Know your place, Lady Sif,” Thor growled in return.

“Perhaps you should listen to her,” Laufey said in a low voice. “You do not know what your actions would unleash. I do.”

Loki knew, too. He cast a glance around what had once been one of the most powerful civilisations in the realms, and he wondered dully that if the Casket remained in the hands of the Allfather, what he would have left to rule once the crown was passed to him; bones, most likely. And Laufey had no wish for himself, or his son, to rule bones — it was what would most certainly happen if war was to once again come to Jötunheimr. But it didn’t stop the blistering hate they held for Asgard and its people.

But even so, there was some small tug in his chest that wanted to fight with the fools of Asgard.

“Go now, while I still allow it,” Laufey commanded.

The royals watched with cold eyes as the Æsir turned and left; Thor did so reluctantly.

“Run back home, little princess.”

Loki froze. His eyes locked on the jötunn — Grundroth, he thought his name was — who said the jive. There was a moment of utter stillness before Thor swung around and cracked Mjölnir against his head.

“Next?”

Loki snarled, drawing his lips back to the gums and he looked to his sire. Laufey’s eyes were livid with rage, and that was all the permission Loki needed to vault over the edge of the throne’s dais and land in the centre of the chaos. He shaped a dagger in his palm and threw it at Thor, but it was smashed to smithereens by Mjölnir. A jolt lurched through his chest as his natural magic snapped, and he stumbled back, shocked. The hammer … it had to have been Mjölnir’s magic that had broken the ice.

He shook his head and roared, and the sound echoed through the towers of ice as he charged. He shaped in his hand this time a knife the length of his forearm and swung it at one of the warriors. He was a large man with a red, lavishly curled beard. He raised a doubled-headed axe up to block the knife and the metal clanged against the ice.

“Horns?!” he gasped. “What sort of jötunn—?”

“The crown prince,” Loki hissed. He attacked again, swinging the knife for the warrior’s neck and lashing out with a leg at the same time. Too busy defending the knife, the Asgardian was sent flying by Loki’s kick, landing a good twenty feet away where he was then engaged with another jötunn.

“At least make it a challenge for me!” Thor cried.

Loki looked up, wild. Thor had already downed a good number of jötnar, and Loki roared again, enraged. He pelted forward, brandishing his knife. He jumped high, landing on a fallen block of Útgarðar and then leaping towards Thor. Thor looked up at him and swept Mjölnir back.

“Thor, no!” the woman screamed.

_Crack!_

Loki was sent flying away, howling. He slammed against one of the walls with a wail of pain and fell to the ground in a crumple. One of his horns lay broken next to him, blue blood dripping from the end.

And then he vanished in a slither of green magic.

“Nice try, ás prince.”

Loki, behind Thor, horns in full health, brought his ice-encased hand around and smashed it across Thor’s face.

Thor tumbled before he straightened back up. His grin was bloodied as he said appreciatively, “Now that’s more like it.”

“Thor, stop!” the woman shouted. “He’s Laufey’s son! Injure him and—” Her sentence was cut short as a jötunn warrior came up behind her.

Loki held his hands out, summoning and warping the ice into a long staff that he brought around upon Thor’s shoulders. He was grinning manically. Thor may not have been able to grievously harm him, but he could to Thor; he was encroaching on jötunn territory, and so Loki had every right to hurt him.

To his surprise and outrage, his staff shattered once again when Thor hit it with Mjölnir. Loki squared his shoulders and hurled the two separate pieces at Thor. They sliced through the air. Thor dodged one of them and smashed the other, but when he looked up, Loki had vanished.

“Where are you, frost giant?!” Thor roared.

Loki was right behind him once again, but Thor, he found, was not patient. He put Mjölnir to the skies and, seconds later, a bolt of lightning streaked down from the heavens. Loki didn’t jump back in time as the lightning forked around him, killing dozens of jötnar. Loki threw up a shielding spell just a fraction of a second too late and he dropped as a bolt hit his gut, and he screeched. The ice cracked under him as he hit it, and his head collided with a rock. He curled himself into a ball, twisting and heaving for air. The ice beneath his head was turning blue, and his hair was sticky with blood.

A cry came from behind him, and Loki saw through watering eyes a spike of ice impale one of the warriors. The jötunn who had stabbed the Asgardian was cut down by two of the others as they jumped to their comrade’s aid.

“Thor!” the female called. “We must go!”

The warrior was lifted off the spike with a groan.

“Then go!” Thor threw Mjölnir through the jötnar, clearing a path for his friends. They fled, but Thor stayed behind. “Where are you, jötunn of horns?”

Loki was pulled away by one of the jötnar whilst the others advanced. Thor _tsked_ with frustration and swung his hammer. He lowered it, and chunks of the ground were ripped away, pelting the jötnar who ran to confront the ás prince.

“My king!”

Laufey whipped around as the jötunn who had Loki in his arms lay him on the floor by the king’s feet. Loki was shivering, one hand to the wound on his abdomen, and the other to his head that ran with blood. His breathing was ragged with pain.

“My heir….” Laufey crouched to Loki’s level. Whilst his sire hadn’t been attentive to his son, it didn’t mean he didn’t care for him. Laufey stroked his hair, one hand on top of Loki’s as he held onto his gut.

“S-Sire,” Loki coughed.

“They will pay,” Laufey whispered. He straightened up, and an echo of his magic rung throughout the air. Loki wheezed as he heard the stirring of Útgarðar’s guardian svell-dýr.

The geis reins of the svell-dýr, cords of bright magic, glowed around Laufey’s arm and the king flexed them. The geis between the svell-dýr’s shoulder blades glowed in response as Laufey assumed his control over it. “Kill them. All of them,” he commanded.

The svell-dýr roared and took off, thundering after the Æsir.

Thor was still beneath them, still wreaking havoc with Mjölnir. He stood and summoned the lightning for a second time, but this time it was much more powerful and much more devastating. Loki felt the ground shudder, felt it in his gut as Jötunheimr Herself cried out in anguish as Her grounds collapsed. Loki screamed, spine bending almost in two as his back arched. Tears pricked his eyes and he felt the realm howl in Her agony. Laufey felt it too, and he stumbled, clutching at his throne, his face etched with concentration to maintain the svell-dýr under his control. And when Laufey looked upon his son once more, he lay sprawled at his feet, unconscious.

* * *

#

* * *

Laufey growled in rage as he stood from the side of his heir and leapt from the throne’s dais. He crashed to the ruined ground, his steps pained as the Voice of Jötunheimr continued to howl. The ground continued to collapse right to the site where the Bifröst had spat out those accursed Æsir. Laufey ran after them, his strides long and heavy. He flew over the ice, summoning it to him where the gaps were too big to jump across.

The svell-dýr had disappeared under the ice, but Laufey could feel it moving beneath the sheet, running along the underside. He watched as it came above the Æsir when they reached the cliff edge, watched as it raised itself to its rear legs and let loose a roar—

—only for it to be silenced as a red blur streaked through the air, slamming through the back of the beast’s mouth in a shower of flesh and blood. It teetered for a heartbeat before it collapsed, dead. The geis snapped, and it vanished off Laufey’s arm at once. The svell-dýr slipped over the edge, crashing at the bottom of the chasm many hundreds of metres below.

Thor stood up, wearing a grin from ear to ear, only to have it falter and die as he looked up the throng of jötnar now before him, Laufey at its head.

They paused for only a heartbeat, and then charged.

The rumble and roar of the Bifröst filled the air as it opened, but not to retrieve the wayward prince and his companions, but to deposit another. Odin Allfather in full battle armour astride Sleipnir. The eight-legged horse reared, an ear-splitting neigh ringing through the air and the jötnar backed away, wary.

But Laufey did not back away.

“Father!” cried Thor, raising his hammer in triumph. “We’ll finish them together!”

“Silence.” The hiss was as cold as Jötunheimr’s winds, and Thor’s returned smile dropped from his face at once.

Laufey rose himself upon a spike of ice so to level himself with the Allfather. He smiled. “Allfather; you look weary.”

“Laufey,” Odin acknowledged.

“Your boy sought this out,” Laufey continued, casting an eye around the ruined Útgarðar.

“You’re right, but they are the actions of a boy — treat them as such. You and I can end this, here and now, before there is further bloodshed.”

Laufey’s lip curled. “How can I treat them as such when my son, my heir, lies gravely injured by your boy’s hand? How can I treat them as such when his lightning destroyed our land? How can I treat them as such when your boy, your _heir_ , so blatantly broke our truce and killed dozens of my subjects and people?” His eyes slid to Thor as he continued, “We are beyond diplomacy now, Allfather. He’ll get what he came for — war, and death.”

Odin’s eyes was full of gravity as he said, “So be it.”

Laufey formed an ice dagger in his hand and raised it, intending to strike the Allfather down.

Odin’s eye widened and he raised Gungnir to the skies. The Bifröst descended once more, and Laufey was blasted backwards with a cry of rage. He dug his dagger into the ground, holding on grimly until the winds abated and the Æsir gone.

* * *

#

* * *

“Why did you bring us back?” Thor demanded as they materialised in the Bifröst Observatory.

“Do you realise what you’ve done; what you’ve started?” his father shouted.

“I was protecting my home!”

“You couldn’t even protect your friends, so how can you expect to protect the kingdom?” His father pointed at Fandral and commanded, “Take him to the healing room; now!”

Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg looked fearfully at the Allfather and then departed, supporting Fandral between them. Heimdallr bowed low to the royals and then left the Observatory.

“There won’t be a kingdom to protect if we are afraid to act,” Thor said stubbornly. “The jötunns must learn to fear me, just as they once feared you, Father.”

“By attacking their crown prince?” his father roared.

“I did not know—”

“Did you not wonder why he bore the horns of the royals? Or were you too proud and vain to care?”

“His size—”

“His size does not matter. He is of royal blood!”

“Then it is important we eliminate as many threats as we can!”

“You think you can walk into Jötunheimr and kill their crown prince?” his father asked, dumbfounded.

“Capture him in the least, then. Make him unable to become a crueller king than Laufey.”

“Cruelty?” his father demanded. “That is what you are — vain, greedy, and cruel! We cannot _touch_ their royal family as much as they can touch ourselves; you are lucky to have escaped with yours and your friends’ lives.”

“Then you are an old fool to think we are safe from them!”

His father fell silent, and Thor thought he had won the argument. He hefted Mjölnir, waiting for the order to Heimdallr to reopen the Bifröst, but it never came.

“Yes, I was a fool, to think you were ready.” He fixed Thor with a steely eye and said monotonously, “Thor Odinson, you have betrayed the express command of your king and in your arrogance and stupidity, you have offered these peaceful realms and innocent lives to the horror and desolation of _war_.” His father took Gungnir up in a fist and slammed it forcefully into the mechanics of the Bifröst. The Observatory began to slowly grind into action again as lightning arched from the tip. “You are unworthy, and I cast you out!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 15-06-'14

Loki’s world was pain; his pain, the pain of Jötunheimr, and the pain he caused the healing jötnar as he lashed out them, screaming in his fevered sleep. The wound in his gut had been bound and healed by poultices and his own magic, but the ghost pain, and the pain of Jötunheimr, echoed within his mind. She was mournful, and She hurt.

And that was something Loki could not forgive.

“Loki. Brother!”

Loki opened his eyes weakly. He twisted his head, moaning. His chambers swam into focus through the most terrific of headaches. The furs on his bed were soft against his rough skin and he sank into them, breathing deeply. The room was huge, the walls and ceiling made of ice-encrusted rock like much of the castle. Stone furniture was scattered around the place, and piles of books littered the floor; one had to transverse a maze to get to the bed.

“Loki!”

“Hey, Helblindi,” Loki croaked. He gave a wan smile as his younger brother scrambled to his side, eyes wide. “You didn’t think I’d be out that long, did you?”

Helblindi clutched at his hand, smiling with relief. He was only six centuries old and still a child. He had the same dark hair as Loki, but it was shorter, if only slightly. His horns were much smaller than Loki’s; whilst Loki’s were huge and intimidating, Helblindi’s fit closer to his skull.

“I never thought you’d be out for a couple of hours,” Helblindi joked. “I was expecting you to wake up ages ago.”

Loki snorted, biting his lip. “Can you still feel Her pain?” he whispered.

Helblindi shook his head. “It was only for a few minutes, but I’m fine now.”

“How I envy you.” Loki smiled and gripped Helblindi’s small hand.

His position as crown prince meant that his connection to Jötunheimr ran much deeper than either of his brothers’ did, and it was a position he owed his life to. He had been born with the nubs of the prominent horns he now wore proudly as had his sire before him, and it had forced Laufey, and then the realm, to overlook his size. Loki shuddered to think about what might have happened to him if his horns had been smaller.

Thinking of his brothers, Loki asked, “Why is Býleistr not huddled around my sick bed?”

“Because he’s busy running the kingdom, stupid,” Helblindi told him with an eyeroll.

“Was Laufey injured too?”

“Jötunheimr still cries to him,” Helblindi said lowly. “And the svell-dýr was killed” —Loki hissed in annoyance; he’d have to go find another one and bind it soon— “but no, he’s not injured.”

“Good.” Loki sat up, coughing. He inspected his gut and smiled when he saw the smooth skin; no one would be the wiser to see he had been injured. His head was still very tender, and he decided to poke at it later.

His anger flared white hot at the thought of Thor and his grip on Helblindi’s hand tightened. “Where are the Æsir?” he asked calmly.

“Gone,” Helblindi told him, wincing at the strength of Loki’s grasp. “The Allfather took them back to Asgard.”

“Did he, now?” Loki breathed. “And that fool of a prince dared call the jötnar cowards, now? Did they have to call for Daddy Dearest to rescues their ungrateful, savage arses, now?”

“You’re doing it again, Loki. Stop saying ‘now’,” Helblindi giggled nervously.

“Oh, am I, now?” Loki said, grinning. “Am I?” He took Helblindi up without warning, throwing him onto the bed that resulted in a delighted squeal. The furs swallowed his younger brother and Loki stood, towering over him. But despite his age, Helblindi was still taller than Loki, if only just.

“You did it again,” Helblindi laughed.

“Really?” Loki asked, eyebrow cocked. He lowered his head and his huge horns clacked against Helblindi’s smaller ones. “Do you know what happens when younger brothers point out their older brother’s flaws, little brother?”

Helblindi shook his head.

“They are reminded as to why they are the younger brothers.”

Loki tossed Helblindi off the bed, crouching low as his little brother rolled around and straightened up before launching himself at him. The two of them wrestled on the floor, knocking over several piles of books in their tussling, but neither of them noticed. Helblindi shrieked with laughter, swiping at Loki with open palms as his older brother moved out of the way of them, jabbing him lightly in the gut, which only made Helblindi laugh harder.

“Have you been reminded?”

“Stop it!” Helblindi squealed.

“But have you been reminded?”

“Enough.”

The two of them looked up as Laufey came into the room, careful not to knock any of the books as he made his way to his children. They scrambled away from each other, neither of them meeting Laufey’s eye as they knelt before him.

“You look better,” Laufey said, nodding at Loki.

“I am, Sire,” Loki breathed, bowing his head. “What of the Æsir?”

“They fled with their tails between their legs. I have also been informed that, because of his rash actions, Thor has been banished.”

Loki frowned. “He should have been killed. It is what you would have done.”

“Maybe to one of my lesser sons, but the fool is Asgard’s crown prince.”

Laufey grasped one of Loki’s horns and he stilled at once; only his sire dared to touch his horns. If anyone else did without his express permission, they would be dead at his feet in seconds.

“Remember that these are the only things letting you stand here tonight, runtling. Remember that if you ever do something like that, I will break these.” His grip tightened.

Loki growled lowly. No matter how Laufey treated his children usually, and no matter how used to it Loki was, he hated being reminded of his runtling nature. It was only called upon, therefore, when Laufey wanted his son to listen. But he could not hate Laufey; Laufey had carried him, cared for him — he was his sire. But there was a thought at the back of his mind — of how Odin had treated his son. It led to another thought: what if the past had been different? If Laufey had made a different decision to what he had all those years ago? What if Loki was still—?

Laufey cut across his thoughts. “I would have no trouble conceiving and carrying another heir, so do well to remember this lesson carried out by Thor Odinson.”

“Yes, Sire,” grumbled Loki.

Laufey left and Loki stood up and sighed, rubbing his forehead.

“Is it me, or has he been grumpier lately?” Helblindi questioned.

“He’s ‘grumpy’ because of what’s happened, and he is still hurting,” Loki said, trying to shake the feeling of his sire’s hard grip on his horn. “So, Asgard’s pride and joy has been banished to who knows where.”

“Midgardr,” Helblindi supplied.

“Huh, he should be praising that soft father of his. Midgardr my arse. If I had done it and Laufey had been so kind as to banish me, he’d have sent me to Múspelheimr.” Loki couldn’t help but feel disgruntled at Laufey’s words to him. He wanted the throne — it was his birthright — and to have it told to him that it could be taken away in a second made him feel a certain insecurity.

“You know he loves — deeply,” Helblindi said as if he had read Loki’s mind. “You’re talented, and you will make a great king.”

“If we don’t get destroyed in this new war,” Loki grunted. “War has been declared, yes?”

Helblindi nodded glumly.

“Humph.” Loki crossed to the window and glared out of it arms crossed tightly against his chest. “We won’t survive another war — _She_ won’t survive. I’ll be the king of a barren rock. Wonderful. The idiot Odinson has not only doomed his own people, but ours as well, and Jötunheimr Herself. But why am I even surprised?” He gave a bark of laughter and his claws left shallow grooves in the wall as he clenched his hand. “The Æsir are savages. But … ah, it does not do well to dwell on what would have happened if Laufey hadn’t acted the way he did in his youth; he did, and that’s the past.”

“Acted …?” At the withering look Loki threw at his brother, Helblindi averted his eyes. “Oh … of course. Forgive me, brother.”

If he hadn’t invaded Midgardr. If he hadn’t brought Jötunheimr to ruin. If he hadn’t lost the Fornvetr … Then perhaps Loki wouldn’t have been born a runt, and he would have a _kingdom_ to rule one night, not the mockery of one.

“No … it’s fine.” Loki sighed heavily. “I just wish something more had been done to prevent this war, or that it was declared over something a more than a skirmish. But, war is war.” He raised his eyes to the heavens, tracing the path where the Bifröst had cleaved the sky earlier that night.

_Curse those Æsir bastards._

* * *

#

* * *

The throne room was abuzz with conversation and debate when Loki stepped in, his head and horns held high, and silence fell at his entry. He continued on, ignoring the bent necks and mutters of, “Your Highness,” in his direction. He had eyes only for his sire. Loki bent a knee in front of the throne, waiting for Laufey to acknowledge him. He did so with a nod, and Loki rose before crossing to his sire’s side. He stood with his hands behind his back, eyes scrutinising the room.

“Are you well, my son?” Laufey asked.

Loki knew it was only for show, but he complied nevertheless — the people had to know their crown prince had recovered from his injury. “I am, Sire. I assume you are as well.”

Again, Laufey nodded before turning back to his business. “As you were saying, General?”

“My king,” the general of the army, Lord Thjazi, continued, “the armies of Jötunheimr have been alerted to the current situation; they will be ready to deploy at your order.”

“How many strong?”

“Easily three thousand for a first wave; many are survivors from the previous Jötunheimr-Asgard War. More recruits will be gathered and trained over the coming months; four thousand at least.”

“Good; I expect you to start doing so as soon as you leave this room.”

“Of course, Your Majesty.”

Loki considered this information, head tilted to the side. Seven thousand troops wasn’t _so_ bad, he conceded, but the real question was their worth; how good they were regarding the arts of war.

“You said many fought in the Jötunheimr-Asgard War of the last millennium,” Loki said. “Are they still as formidable as when they last fought?”

“Of course they are, Your Highness.”

“They best be; when one sits on their arse for a thousand years, things tend to slide out of practice.” There was a low chuckle about the room and Loki’s lip curled appreciatively. “I think it would be wise, and I am sure my king and sire would agree, if these troops are given a full inspection to their worth and those that fulfil the requirements will be allowed in this first wave. Others must go back to training.”

“My son is quite correct in that manner,” Laufey said. “I want each soldier to be beyond his personal best.”

“Of course, my lords,” Thjazi murmured, bowing his head once again.

“Útgarðar will be fortified,” Laufey ordered of the room. “The remnants of the buildings surrounding the castle will be cleared away and used instead as a blockade. Spread the ice thinly over the new chasm. And Loki” —Laufey turned to his son— “you will double-check the spell of concealment around Útgarðar and then recheck it again. Then what I want you to do is to strengthen it as much as possible; it is crucial that their damn Gatekeeper cannot see what we are doing.”

“Yes, Sire.”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki tilted his head back, closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He sat very still at the edge of the cliff as he searched for the magic surrounding Útgarðar. It was a familiar feeling, the net of magic encasing the city that hid its activity from Heimdallr. Loki shifted his concentration, tracing the bonds crisscrossing over his head. It would take a long time to check every point as the net extended for miles in each direction. He was aware of the guards stationed around him, but their presences were nothing more than a subtle awareness at the edge of his mind. Loki tested each bond by tugging on it gently before strengthening it with a touch of magic. The bonds of the net seemed to emit a pulse before they settled again, glowing brightly in his mind’s eye.

When he was done, his body was stiff and a light layer of frost clung to his skin. His lashes were frozen together and he cracked his eyes open, blinking rapidly as he stirred.

“Your Highness, how is the magic?”

“Holding nice and strong,” Loki replied, standing up gingerly and stretching his back.

Dawn touched the horizon and he threw a hand up, shielding his eyes from the light. He was tired and he yawned as he turned on his heel and trudged back towards Útgarðar. “You,” he said, snapping his fingers at one of the guards, “go to the kitchens and tell them to take my meal to my chambers; I have no desire to sit through my sire’s council. And you” —Loki pointed at another guard— “tell the king I have retired to my rooms for the day, and tell him I do not wished to be disturbed.”

The two guards bowed and left. Two more guards stayed behind with Loki. They continued in silence, and they stationed themselves outside Loki’s door when he reached his chambers. He would have preferred them to go, but he was too tired to argue. Jötnar were nocturnal creatures, and it was through heavy eyes he ate his dinner. He shoved the tray outside the door when he had finished, and it was with dragging steps he pulled himself towards his bed. He fell upon it, sleep taking him almost instantly.

* * *

#

* * *

The war room was nothing but grim silence at eventide.

“ _How_ many, General?” Laufey asked disbelievingly.

“Seven hundred are at the desired level, Your Majesty,” Thjazi said, his head bowed.

Loki bristled and his toes dug into the icy floor.

“Seven — hundred,” Laufey repeated, his voice leaden. “And what, may I ask, have you been doing for the past millennium, General? Has it been so wasteful that the seven thousand you promised me yesternight have now been reduced to _seven — hundred_?” Laufey’s anger was terrible, and Loki couldn’t help but shrink back.

“My king,” Thjazi protested, cowering under Laufey, “we have numbered seven hundred only because of the additions you require—”

“I care not for your excuses; you have failed your duty and your king,” Laufey said. His hand shot out and his claws dug into the flesh above Thjazi’s collarbone, above the badge of office embedded into his flesh. Laufey grabbed at it and pulled, kicking Thjazi away to rip the metal from his body.

The general took the punishment silently, stumbling back with a hand to his chest. Bright blood dripped from between his fingers and froze quickly on the floor.

Laufey bore his teeth and held his horns high. “You are dismissed. Savour this act of mercy upon my part; my elation at the news of the Odinson’s banishment has not left me. If it had, then you would be dead at my feet for the slothful domineer in which you have commanded the armies of Jötunheimr. As for the consequences for your actions, you are relived from not only your position, but from the army, and I banish you to the Skógarmaðrfit.”

“I … may I be so bold as to say I fully agree with the punishment you have set before me?”

“Aye, it would be too bold,” snapped Laufey. “Escort him from Útgarðar, and watch him until this war abates.”

Two guards jumped forward, standing on either side of the disgraced Thjazi who looked utterly miserable. He bowed once more, shaking, before he left.

“You should have killed him,” Loki murmured as Laufey returned to his throne. “Jötunheimr is no place for the weak. He will take offence and could prove to be a problem.”

“It is done, Loki,” Laufey said with finality. “Speak no more of it.”

Loki hesitated before he muttered, “Yes, Sire.”

“Good.” Laufey looked up as someone else stepped into the throne room and he nodded. “Býleistr.”

“Sire,” Loki’s older brother, Býleistr said smoothly. “Brother.”

“Brother,” Loki murmured. “Finally up and about now?”

Býleistr and Loki had never exactly been on the best of terms — Loki strongly suspecting the reason to be that he had, in sense of the word, usurped the throne from his older brother — but it didn’t mean they weren’t friends. Býleistr wore the title of the eldest child well. Powerfully built and tall even for the jötnar, he would have been the gem of Laufey’s eye if he had been born crown prince. They only addressed each other with curt nods, now. Býleistr bowed before Laufey as Loki had done before taking his place on the right side of the throne.

Býleistr leant around the back of the throne and Loki did so too. The older brother gave a tiny jerk of the head towards where Thjazi had left along with the smallest of frowns. The message was clear enough to Loki:

_What happened?_

“Later,” Loki mouthed.

“So, with our army in such a poor state, we had only hope that the _Asgardians_ ” —Laufey spat the word; such as the Æsir called the jötnar _frost giants_ , to address the inhabitants of Asgard as _Asgardians_ was an equally degrading term— “dare not to attack us soon. Loki, did you reinforce the barriers to block Heimdallr’s Sight?”

“I did,” Loki confirmed. “They are now stronger than ever, Sire.”

“We can hope, therefore, that the Asgardians do not truly know our current position.”

“But even if they do not attack and we train our army, they are training theirs as well,” Loki interjected. “Sire, I must talk to y—”

“Later,” Laufey snapped.

“No, not later,” Loki said. “Sire, the only sure way to be able to win this war is with our greatest weapon.”

“The weapon currently locked away in Asgard, if I so recall,” Laufey said.

“But what if it wasn’t?” Loki insisted.

There was a heavy silence. After a few long heartbeats, Laufey said, brow raised, “Continue.”

“Sire,” Loki said again, taking a deep breath as he did so, “I have a plan in which I would be able to break into Asgard to seize the Casket of Ancient Winters.”

* * *

#

* * *

“And why can I not at least try?” Loki fumed, pacing back and forth in front of his sire. “I have worked out a plan which, if successful, will not only get us back the Fornvetr, but may even eliminate the need for war at all!”

“I will not let you because I will not risk losing you again.”

“Oh?” Loki laughed wildly. “You plan to keep me holed away in here for the whole war, do you? Just because I was injured yesternight?”

“For precisely that reason,” Laufey argued.

“Since when have you shown so much concern for my wellbeing?” Loki asked snippily.

“Because you are the crown prince.”

“But I remember you saying only hours ago that you would have no trouble replacing me!” Loki cried. “And wouldn’t you want to replace your poor, stunted, weak successor for someone worthy; someone like Býleistr, for instance?”

“You are my child, Loki.”

“Like you care!” Loki hollered. “If you thought so highly of me, then you wouldn’t have let me be t—”

Laufey’s roar scared him into silence, and he hated himself for cowering, for backing away as his sire loomed over him. He stretched a hand out, and Loki flinched back as it wrapped itself around one of his horns again. He yelped as he was pulled forward.

“I expect you to do your duty to your people and to your realm,” Laufey said in his ear. Loki scratched at his wrist weakly, trying to fight him off. “And to do that duty, you need to be alive and well, am I clear?” He shook Loki’s horn. “ _Am I clear?_ ”

“Yes,” Loki gasped. “Yes, Sire!”

“Good.”

Laufey released him and Loki sprung away, cursing lightly and prowling against the wall.

“Do not think I do not care for you, child,” Laufey said, and Loki could have sworn it was an afterthought. “And do not think I do not know your thoughts lie with the wellbeing of this realm, but you must see that it is too risky a gamble to go after the Fornvetr when it is so tightly locked away in Asgard. I am not willing to play this game with you as the centre piece.”

“Because I am your heir? Or because I am your son?” Loki spat venomously.

“You are both, Loki.”

He noticed Laufey hadn’t given him a definite answer, and it left him angry and confused as his sire left the throne room.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 15-06-'14

“He didn’t like it,” Loki snapped as he stormed into the solar.

“Of course he didn’t,” snorted Býleistr, crossing his legs. Loki didn’t miss the small hint of disappointment in his voice.

“Don’t worry, you can get me killed anyway,” Loki said cheerfully.

“You’re going to ignore his orders?”

“For Jötunheimr? Yes.” Loki sat himself opposite his brother on one of the chairs covered with furs, scrutinising Býleistr up and down. “Did you find Hruga?”

“He’s coming.”

“And why are you here before him?” Loki asked bluntly.

Býleistr snorted again. “When your legs are longer than a runt’s, then you tend to travel faster.”

“I hope that wasn’t directed towards me,” Loki said dryly.

“So, you intend to commit treason,” Býleistr said, picking at the dirt under his claws.

Loki frowned at the change in topic. “Yes, I’ll need your help, brother.”

“Then do tell me what you have in mind.”

So as they waited for Hruga, Loki outlined his plan to Býleistr, and every passing second he talked, Býleistr’s frown became more and more pronounced.

“You’re insane,” he said when Loki finished.

Loki shrugged. “The Asgardians are arrogant, and I’m planning to play to their arrogance, and use my size to an advantage as well. Underestimation is our friend, brother.”

A patter of footsteps came from outside, and the two of them looked to the door in unison.

“I’m here to see the princes,” a voice said.

“Let him in,” Loki called.

“It’s—” one of the guards started, but Loki hissed in annoyance.

“I know who it is; who else sounds like a child up here apart from Helblindi and myself? Let him in, I said.”

Hruga came into the room, hands behind his back, and he bowed deeply to Loki and Býleistr. “Your Highnesses,” he said softly.

“You couldn’t knock over a stuffed rabbit if you’re going to insist speaking so softly,” Loki said. He wasn’t overly fond of Hruga; to be honest, he wasn’t overly fond of anyone but Helblindi and maybe his part-time lover Angrboða. But Hruga had something he needed: he was small just like Loki. “Come here.”

Hruga scooted forwards through the furniture. When he stopped in front of Loki, there was a slight tremor in his shoulders. Loki sighed — this plan of his was starting to look as shaky as Hruga.

“Oh, stop shaking,” Loki commanded.

Hruga’s shoulders locked; it was a visible effort.

“Better,” Loki said. “Guards,” he called. “Leave us. You are relieved.”

The guards left, and Loki could hear a slight grumble amongst their number as they did so. Loki ignored them too.

“Hruga,” he said now, his voice light and inviting. “Do you swear to me on your name and your blood not a word of this leaves this room?”

“Yes, Your Highness. I swear it upon Oblivion.”

“Well then, you must be wondering why you’re here?”

Hruga nodded.

“You are just the person I need.”

“How so, my prince?” Hruga asked, hushed.

“Because you are a runt — that is why. I am in need of your size, and your brain; I’ve been told you have one.”

“I have been told so, Your Highness,” Hruga said, a snatch of pride in his voice.

“Hmm.” Loki got down from the edge of the bed and paced in a slow circle around Hruga, calculating. “How is your Asgardian?”

“My … my Asgardian?” Hruga asked, surprised.

“Show me,” Loki said, switching language.

“Of course, Your Highness,” Hruga said in the Æsir tongue.

“You are not to change language until I dismiss you, am I clear?”

“Yes, Your Highness.”

“Good. Now tell me, how are your acting skills?”

“My acting skills, Your Highness?” Hruga’s brow knotted in confusion.

Loki smiled graciously. “If they are shit, then leave this room, and you are not to breathe a word of this to anyone if you value that head of yours.”

“They are not _terrible_ ,” Hruga amended.

“Either you give me a definite answer, or leave,” Loki said. “Were you being truthful then, or were you undermining yourself?”

“Undermining, Your Highness.”

“As I was hoping.” Loki spun to face Býleistr, a flash of success in his eyes. “I believe we have our soldier, brother.”

“This plan of yours is mad,” Býleistr grumbled.

“Just think of the throne that awaits you if I perish,” Loki said with a shit-eating grin.

“I’m sorry, Your Highnesses,” Hruga said, balking at the look Loki threw him at his interruption, “but what sort of plan requires myself?”

“You’ve sworn yourself to secrecy, and let it be known here and now, do not take my threats lightly; isn’t that right, Býleistr?”

Býleistr grunted in response.

“I have, Your Highness,” Hruga said.

“Well then, you’ll have no complaints about where we’re going in five minutes.” He flashed a smile at Hruga’s now slightly worried look. “We’re going to Midgardr to visit Asgard’s favourite prince.”

* * *

#

* * *

Thor’s days had been better. Much better, admittedly. The stark whiteness of the room he was seated in stung his eyes from the brightness. But he refused to look at the man standing before him — the man in the dark suit and the almost too kind expression on his face. A ruse, Thor knew, to try to get him to open up and explain himself and his actions.

“You made my men, some of the most highly trained professionals in the world, look like a bunch of … minimum wage mall cops,” the suited man was saying.

Thor didn’t look at him. Shame crept through his heart, and despair. Despair for his revoked right of holding Mjölnir, despair at the loss of Asgard, despair at the loss of his pride, and the despair at the loss of the people he had known all his life — the Warriors Three, Sif, his mother, and the Allfather were at the foremost of his thoughts. He was a broken man; he was no longer worthy of being anything other than what he had been reduced to. Norns, how he had so quickly become a self-pitying mess.

“That’s hurtful.”

 _You know nothing of hurt_ , Thor thought bitterly. He didn’t say anything, didn’t even make a sound, or raise his eyes. The man’s words were slogging their way through his mind; he barely took them in.

“In my experience, it takes someone who has received similar training to do what you did to them.”

Thor said nothing.

“How about you tell me where you received your training? Pakistan? Chechnya? Afghanistan?”

 _You would not believe me, even if I told you_. Darcy hadn’t, Selvig hadn’t … _Jane_ hadn’t. They had humoured him, yes, but had not believed.

“No … you strike me more as the soldier forged in time. Where was it? South Africa?” The man sighed before he continued in that low voice, “Certain groups pay very well for a good mercenary like you. Who are you?”

It was now Thor raised his eyes, but he still said nothing. He was alone and friendless. And he deserved it.

The man shifted his position and gave another short sigh. “One way or another, we find out what we need to know. We’re good at that.”

_But if I were to tell you the truth, would you choose to believe it?_

Something beeped in the man’s pocket and he fished it out, looked at it for a second, and gave a small grimace. “I won’t be a minute.”

He walked towards the sliding doors, opened them, and stepped through. Thor looked to the floor again.

When they closed, an icy wind pulled at his hair and Thor looked up quickly, eyes widening in alarm. Before him stood another man, but so very different from the human he started. Tall, composed, scarred, horned … blue.

“Greetings, Thor-Prince,” the jötunn said, smiling. “I believe we have unfinished business.”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki, Býleistr, and Hruga landed on Midgardr in the twilight of the day. Despite the cool temperature, it was still sweltering to them. Hruga gasped and stumbled, clutching at his throat as the hot, dry air entered his lungs. Loki was more controlled in the matter, but he still fought down his grimace of discomfort at the horrible heat. The light scale armour and leather he wore wasn’t helping.

“Where are we?” Býleistr coughed as Loki closed the Ævaleysa behind them.

“I have no idea, but I hate it.” Loki looked down to his feet, feeling the sand and dirt between his toes. It was irritating, making him feel jumpy, and he brushed his feet against his leg in an attempt to rid himself of it. “I hate it a lot. Where was it our sire landed in the days of the war?”

“Some place called Northland,” Býleistr supplied.

“Well, why in Oblivion’s name couldn’t of the Allfather have banished Thor _there_?” Loki fumed. “Bastard.”

He placed a thumb to his teeth, cooling the air as he breathed in and shuddering with relief as it rushed to his lungs. He extended the magic, and the air around him became more chilled; it made the arid environment somewhat more comfortable. Frost crunched under his feet as he started in the direction he felt Thor’s presence, waving at the others to follow him.

As far as Loki could tell, there were no nearby roads, so he banished the idea of concealing them with a glamour, seeing it as a waste of magic. He was stifling yawns born from the transportation; it was something he had attempted rarely in the past such was the toll on his energy levels. As it was, all he really wanted to do now was to sleep.

“Your Highnesses, the town’s that way,” Hruga said, pointing meekly behind them.

Loki turned on his heel, eyebrow raised as he followed the direction of Hruga’s thumb. Lights glittered in the proffered direction.

“Then you talk to the Allfather about banishing his son there, because the spell says it’s _this_ way,” Loki said irritably, pointing in the opposite direction. “Go that way if you wish, but I’m going to follow the spell.”

_And I’m beginning to doubt your usefulness._

Hruga’s cheeks darkened as he blushed, but it went ignored by the royal brothers. They marched off in the direction Loki had taken. They walked in silence, the frost they left beneath their feet melting quickly behind them. Sometime later, it began to rain earnestly for a few minutes, complete with lightning, but it stopped soon afterwards much to Loki’s relief. Snow was much nicer than rain; it didn’t leave them crusted with frost like a second skin, for instance, something that got annoying.

Night had truly fallen by the time they came across the site Loki felt the spell tugging him towards. He came to a crouch behind a small ridge, scanning the vicinity with a look of interest.

“What is with these humans?” he grunted.

“It looks like a temporary site,” Hruga put in.

“But why out here of all places?” Býleistr asked, disgruntled.

Loki shrugged; who knew what went through their tiny minds?

A white cube made out some sort of shiny, primitive material took up the centre space. The area was bathed in light like the sun, and the effect it had on the cube and surrounding tunnels made Loki think of Jötunheimr and Her snows in the day. Humans scuttled around the place like ants — some on foot, some in antiquated vehicles.

Loki frowned. “Something’s happened here recently; they’re all stirred up.”

“All the easier to sneak in then,” Býleistr said happily.

“Very much indeed.” Loki beckoned the other two towards him and they crouched in front of him. “Now, Býleistr, you stay here and don’t move until Hruga and I have finished our part. Take this.” Loki took out from the negative space a crystal on a thong and pressed it into his brother’s hand.

“Is this—?” Býleistr started, impressed.

“Yes, Blood of Jötunheimr. Smash it and it’ll take you home.”

“How did you get this? Dark energy is not something easily come across.”

“Trust me, you don’t want to know.” Loki grinned at the memory; ah, that had been a pleasurable, if somewhat scarring, day.

“Your Highness, I’m not going home?” Hruga asked sharply.

“No, not yet, but you’ll be back there by the end of the month,” Loki said.

Hruga groaned. “Your Highness, if I may say, if we have to go to somewhere with more air like this—”

“Then pray we don’t,” Loki said smoothly. “Now come here.” Loki touched Hruga’s forehead with two fingers and closed his eyes. He shifted a small amount of power over to Hruga. It travelled from his heart to his forearm and to his fingertips and into Hruga in a cold wave, something that made even the jötunn shiver for a moment. “Now, that’s ready to use when you must. Be careful; I’ve only given you a small amount, so do not lift its power until it is safe to do so, and that might not be until we are back on Jötunheimr; am I understood?”

“Yes, Your Highness. Of course, Your Highness.”

“Good.” Loki straightened up, brushing his knees of dirt and sand and stood on the crest of the ridge, looking down upon the humans. “Stay here until it’s time. Otherwise, I shall see you two later.”

Loki sauntered down the hill, weaving himself a glamour of invisibility. He walked around the fence and through the front gate. Two guards stood there with dogs on leashes, and they growled at Loki as he passed.

“Hecate, quiet girl,” one of the guards said, patting the dog comfortingly on the head. The dog whimpered once before lying on the ground as it watched Loki pass.

Loki smirked.

He walked into the camp boldly, headed towards one of the caravans in which multiple people were gathered — where Thor was. He climbed into it, petty satisfaction rising in his chest as people felt the chill in the air of his passing. They looked around from their screens to determine the source of momentary discomfort before returning to their work. Humans were so easy to fool; Loki almost laughed with exasperation. They thought themselves so advanced with their electrical technology…. Primaeval things.

His search led him to the back of the trailer and, ah, there was the idiot Thor. He was seated on a small chair in a white room made of mirrors. A man stood over him; questioning him, Loki thought. He drew closer to hear the conversation through the glass.

“Certain groups pay very well for a good mercenary like you. Who are you?”

The man seated in front of the cubical said to a work partner, “Who’s blasted the air conditioner all of a sudden? If it’s David again saying he’s hot, I’ll kick his ass all the way to Russia so he can freeze there.”

Loki needed to get the man out of there, but he didn’t want to barge in and do it. No, he wanted to scare Thor; it would be funny.

Loki flicked his wrist, and the device in the man’s pocket, one of the many technological inventions the humans carried around with them, beeped a few times. The man reached into his pocket, looking at the thing quickly before saying to Thor, “I won’t be a minute.”

He stepped to the sliding door, opened it, and Loki slipped inside. He didn’t reveal himself instantly though. He wanted to look upon the disgrace Asgard called their crown prince. Their broken crown prince, it was now clear. He was nothing like the Thor Loki had encountered just over a night before. What could inspire such a change in a man that quickly, he wondered? Battered, muddy, and with such a look of hopelessness in his eye Loki wanted to reward the person who had done this.

But, Loki told himself, he was there for other reasons. He flicked his wrist again, dispelling the glamour. “Greetings, Thor-Prince,” he purred, smiling menacingly as Thor looked up at him wildly. “I believe we have unfinished business.”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki blasted the doors apart with a shockwave of magic, and broken glass flew in every which direction. Outside, the humans shot from their seats. Some screamed, and most of them fled whilst others ran forward, weapons in hand and pointing them at him. Loki looked at them under his brows, baring his fangs. He roared, summoning and shaping the ice into a set of long knives. Spikes rose on his back and shoulders as he took a step back so to keep Thor in his line of sight also.

“Drop your weapons, sir!” the human who had been interrogating Thor commanded.

Loki cocked his head to the side with a snort. “Drop yours,” he hissed in the Allspeak.

He charged at them.

“Fire!”

He screeched when hard projectiles hit his flesh, and they left small dents and grooves in his skin and _ping_ ed off his armour. The projectiles punched into the metal walls of the room. Loki flung his hands down, freezing the floor. The humans slipped and fell as their feet were pulled from under them. Loki flicked his hair out of his eyes in annoyance. He ran at them, falling upon them with something nothing short of savagery. Their flesh, he realised, tore so easily under his weapons. It ripped like hide-parchment; the muscles were less dense than what he was used to stabbing. One twitch of his wrist and he inflicted scores of damage. A grin split his face at the realisation.

Bangs as well as screams were loud in his ears as the humans continued to fire their weapons upon him. The projectiles very rarely drew blood — and that was only if they were at close range — but they hit hard enough to hurt and leave bruises. And he was getting fed up with them. He growled in frustration and straightened up from his latest kill. A blast of icy air left his body, flecked with shards that tore at the clothes of the humans and distracted them for long enough to pull back. But his victory was short lived as he was caught around the middle.

Loki was thrown through the wall by Thor’s shove and they tumbled outside onto the muddy ground, rolling over and over. Loki jumped to his feet quickly, swinging his knives outwards as he attacked the disgraced prince of Asgard. Thor was slower, weaker, and it was with ease Loki avoided his punches and kicks to land blows upon his up-thrown arms. Crimson blood spattered the ground from the deep cuts he inflicted upon Thor.

“Not so confident, are you now?” Loki jeered. He slammed his foot into Thor’s chest and the prince skidded several feet through the mud. Loki advanced upon him, ignoring the running, screaming crowds. Loki stumbled forward with a high yelp as something small and painful hit the back of his head. He whirled around, seeking the human who had shot at him. On finding him, Loki formed a small dagger in his palm and threw it. The human crumpled, the ice puncturing the back of his neck.

“You’d think they’d learn not to shoot the horned beast, wouldn’t you?” Loki mused, more so to himself. “Ha! I was told of how you have lodged with them, how you haven’t torn them apart for hurting you. If not them, then what did Jötunheimr ever do to you personally? _What has it done?_ ”

“I’m begging you to cease your rampage, these humans are harmless,” Thor pleaded.

“Harmless, now? They’re not so harmless they didn’t try to hurt me. I’m bruised, battered, and I’m angry.”

“They are still children compared to our races!”

“Them?  _Children_ _?_ I haven’t heard something so ridiculous for a long while!” Loki laughed, wild. “And you have the  _nerve_ to call me a monster, now? I could say the same for you.”

He jumped onto Thor, wrenching his hands to either side with ease and leaning close to his face, teeth bared. He burned Thor’s arms with frostbite and the Asgardian thrashed beneath him, trying to drive him away.

“You are the monster, Odinson. You who attacked my people and my realm when they had done _nothing_. Who gave you the authority to slay so many when it was so few who broke the treaty of our sires?” He took Thor’s arms into a single hand and held him easily. With his free hand, he shaped a thin knife and pressed it into the soft skin of Thor’s throat. Loki could see the vein jumping there from the ás’ terror. “It was you who harmed me last time,” he breathed. “Now, let me return the favour.”

A whirling, blinding light threw Loki off Thor. He fell hard, and he regained his feet quickly. Loki recognised the colours of the Bifröst at once. A dozen warriors clad in white and gold armour emerged from the Bridge and they charged him. Loki roared his challenge, calling forth his knives once again and elongating them to short swords. He whirled, a blur of blue and black and he slashed at the warriors, felling and stabbing them with no mercy on his part. His thoughts narrowed to only the battle around him; slash, stab, swipe, retreat, block, attack. A pile of bodies surrounded him within seconds, their yellow cloaks drenched with scarlet blood. He looked up at the remaining warriors who circled him, wary.

“Come on!” Loki bellowed at them. “Come at me, Asgardian filth!”

They charged him, seven of them hacking and slashing at him. Loki had no time to retaliate, instead retreating to pure defence, parrying blows as he was forced back. One warrior swung at his head and he lifted his knives in a block, catching the sword in his crossed blades. He whipped one of them sideways, throwing it, and it caught one of the Einherjar in the throat. Loki ran at him, jumping and kicking off his chest in a neat backflip, landing in a spin and slashing at the Asgardians’ knees. But it was over when he straightened up to find a blade to his throat. It pressed into the soft skin of his neck.

“Yield, monster.”

More blades were pointing at him now, and Loki had no choice but to release his ice weapons. They melted as soon as they hit the ground. Loki stared coolly at the Einherji.

“Do you yield?”

“I yield,” Loki said icily.

“Take him,” their captain said.

Loki’s hands were wrestled behind him, and he hissed as they bound them. He wished to freeze them, but he was aware of the blade at his neck. He looked into the Einherji’s eyes, and was met with his vermillion gaze.

 _So_ , Loki thought at he was wrestled away,  _you can indeed act, Hruga. Let’s hope you can keep it up_.

“Who here is in charge?” the Einherjar captain demanded of the humans.

“I am,” a human said, stepping forward. “Agent Coulson of the Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement, and Logistics Division, or S.H.I.E.L.D. for short.”

“I am Captain Týr of Asgard, am I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Son of Coul from S.H.I.E.L.D. We apologise on the behalf of our king and Asgard for this unfortunate event. These … barbaric _creatures_ ” —he flung an arm behind him at Loki who said something entirely unflattering in the jötunn tongue— “have been trouble in the past. We will deal with this problem.”

“You’re planning to leave now?”

The Einherji bowed. “We are, Midgardian. We shall endeavour not to disturb your realm again. For your losses here today we will compensate with the appropriate weregild for each of your fallen.

“Your Highness,” he said, turning to address Thor, “the Lady Queen has requested we also retrieve you. It is clear you are not safe here.”

“My mother?” Thor asked. “What of my father?”

“Your father has fallen into the Odinsleep, and your mother has been left as regent ruler. We must hurry back now, Your Highness.”

“Wait, Captain Týr, we would like you to answer some qu—” the human started, but he was ignored as the Bifröst cleaved the night once again, taking the Æsir and their jötunn prisoner back to the Realm Eternal.

* * *

#

* * *

Býleistr’s steps echoed around the throne room as he bowed before his sire, not looking at him as he said in a low voice, “Sire, Loki has been taken by the forces of Asgard as a prisoner.”

Laufey howled with rage.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 15-06-'14

If Loki had thought that Midgardr’s heat was bad, he was aching for it when they arrived in Asgard. Loki stumbled as he was spat out of the Bifröst — that itself being an uncomfortable experience — heaving great gasps of air and coughing violently at the searing heat of the place. He cast a quick glance over to Hruga. He seemed to have steeled himself, but he flinched, nevertheless. The manacles Loki was bound with restricted his magic, and so it was hardly his fault he had had such a reaction to the temperature, he told himself.

“Straighten up, monster,” Týr snapped, walking through the Observatory and out onto the Bridge.

The Observatory itself was, as Loki had been told Asgard was, gold, huge, and the smell of ozone laced the air. The Gatekeeper Heimdallr, fitted with gold armour — _is that a requirement here; gold armour?_ — gazed solemnly at Loki. Loki snapped his teeth at him.

“Prince Loki,” he said. “I must confess: I am curious about your decisions on Midgardr.”

“What of them?” Loki asked, panting slightly. “My decision to attack your golden prince? I didn’t realise you were that slow on the uptake. Maybe you should be asking him as to why he did just that to Jötunheimr not two nights past. Maybe I should ask why you let him pass.”

“I am curious about your lack of protective spells,” Heimdallr continued. “You are adept at magic, and yet, if you truly sought to kill Prince Thor, you would have shielded yourself from my Sight.”

“Who said I wanted to kill him?” Loki asked calmly. “What if I just wanted to frighten and then leave before your people could interfere?”

“Your actions were of a malicious intent that certainly ended the lives of two dozen humans.”

“Only ants, dear Gatekeeper; they are only pests. Surely they will be replaced quickly enough.”

“Much as you are a pest.”

“I think you mean such as you, Gatekeeper, with that Sight of yours against which I have to protect myself every time I have a good old fu—”

“Be quiet,” Týr snarled. He hit Loki on the crown of his head and he yelped.

“Think about your actions, Einherji, before you lay another hand upon me,” Loki spat.

“You should have thought about yours before you attacked Prince Thor.”

“And he should have thought about his before he attacked Jötunheimr.” Loki smiled, flashing his teeth. “Vicious cycle, is it not?”

“I ordered you to be quiet.”

“Upon what authority?”

“I have been appointed the captain and leader of the Einherjar by Odin Allfather himself. Upon _that_ authority.”

“Pity he isn’t my king, though. Otherwise, I just might have listened to you.”

“You are our prisoner.”

“And yet I am also still crown prince of Jötunheimr. I do as I will, Einherji.”

“One more word and you will be muzzled.”

“Like a _dýr_? That’s not going to go down well with my king and sire, is it?”

Týr lost his patience. “Muzzle the dog,” he ordered. “Now.”

“Oh no, he will not be pleased in the slightest,” Loki drawled. His head was jerked back, and a metal muzzle that covered his lower jaw and pressed into the back of his skull was placed upon him. His jaw was wrenched open in order to shove the mouthpiece in. It cut into the soft palette of his mouth, and he yowled as it drew blood. Loki struggled, trying to get the thing off, but it was pointless.

“A dog indeed,” Týr said, barely containing his mirth as, to add further insult to injury, a collar was clamped around his neck.

 _I swear to Ymir_ , Loki thought viciously as the thing was bound mercilessly at the back, _that I will cut your hand off, Æsir beast._

Horses were waiting for them, fourteen for each of the Einherjar, Týr, and Thor. The courtesy was not extended to Loki. The dead were tied to the remaining horses once the riders had saddled up, and Loki took the time to cast a glance over at Thor.

The boy prince was ashen faced, still covered in mud, and he looked grimly at Asgard. Loki followed his gaze towards the city and snorted in derision. Were the Asgardians obsessed with gold and precious metals? Their city shone with the stuff, and it made Loki yearn for the cool silver ice of Jötunheimr and the dark stone of Útgarðar. The Bridge beneath their feet was shot through with rainbow colours that flared every time Loki put weight on his feet. The skies were dark with the night and galaxies hung in the space, illuminating Asgard far more brightly than Jötunheimr’s twin moons did for their realm. Loki found Asgard almost too grand, too showy, and he disliked it — the Æsir were pompous and arrogant.

“Move,” Týr ordered.

Loki was jerked forward by the chains around his hands and he fought against them, hissing and snarling against the muzzle’s mouthpiece, but his efforts were in vain. He had to keep up, lest he be dragged on his face into the city. No, he would never allow that to happen.

The Bridge was long, and it took a good fifteen minutes for them to reach the gates — also gold — emblazoned with the thrice-intertwined Valknut triangles. Loki held his horns high, tugging half-heartedly on the chains as the gates swung open and allowed the party access to Asgard.

Cheers and hissing met his ears as the Einherjar and the prince rode through, leading the jötunn beast with the strange horns and the savage lines of his people. They took one look at the deep blue skin and the bloody ruby of his eyes and cursed him. Loki ignored them; he was good at ignoring people. The Æsir lined the streets leading to the palace, and everywhere there were eyes — eyes looking at their dirty, muddy prince in Midgardian attire, and the monster behind him. Loki thought of what the situation might be if it was reversed — Thor the one in chains and Loki victorious, riding to Laufey on the back of a _káshta_. The image in his mind’s eye was good, and he smiled under the muzzle.

The doors to the palace swung on well-oiled hinges as the Æsir dismounted, handing the reins of their horses to the servants on hand.

“Gives the royal condolences to the families of the fallen; return their bodies,” Týr said. “Tell them they died honourably.”

 _It was the last thing they had died as_ , Loki thought, watching at Týr gave more orders on the preparation of the weregild. He preferred the truth better — that being he had cut them down like _dýar_ in the ecstasy of his bloodlust. He would have liked to jeer at them, but he could not. He was starting to regret having spoken so rashly to Týr now, despite the fun that he had had in infuriating the man. Loki’s chains were handed to two of the Einherjar as they entered the palace. A flight of steps greeted them, and at the top stood a woman in fine turquoise silks, her strawberry-blonde hair pinned atop her head in an exquisite knot.

“Thor.” She rushed down the steps to greet him, flinging her arms around the Thunderer and holding him close.

“Mother,” Thor said in return.

“Are you alright?” the queen asked, looking her son over for injury. “Were the Einherjar too late?”

“I am not grievously hurt. A little bruised, but nothing more.”

“Your mortal body, though—”

“Is bruised, Mother.”

“It is not what your wounds tell me,” she said angrily. The cuts Loki had given across Thor’s forearms were still bleeding sluggishly.

Thor shifted his arms from view. “They are shallow, Mother. They are nothing to worry about.”

The queen, Loki suspected, knew otherwise. It showed in the tight line of her lips and the disapproving stare she gave her son.

After a few seconds of silence, she said, “Very well. I am glad of your safe return to us, my son.”

“I am glad of your happiness,” Thor replied, but it sounded hollow.

The queen turned her eyes upon Loki, and he was surprised that they didn’t burn with hatred. Loki relaxed his body posture, shifting his weight from foot to foot and cocking his head to the side. He growled low in his throat, and the queen took a deep intake a breath.

“Captain Týr,” she said stiffly, “take him to the dungeons where he is to await further questioning. No one is to speak with him until I do so, am I clear?”

“Very much so, Your Majesty,” Týr said, bowing with one hand to his heart.

Loki was pulled away, but his eyes never left the queen’s face as hers did not leave his. He wondered what she was thinking as she looked upon him, upon the red-eyed savage who had nearly killed her precious, golden child not just once, but twice. Loki wanted her to hate him, but he could not find the emotion in her face, could see no trace of it in her eyes, and he made it his goal to see her with that utter loathing for him before this song and dance ended.

* * *

#

* * *

“Tell me everything, Thor,” his mother said, keeping in stride with her son as they walked the halls of Glaðsheimr. “What happened on Midgardr?”

“You saw what happened,” Thor said bluntly. It was an effort to keep up with his mother with his mortal body, and soon he was breathing heavily when, in reality, was nothing more than a gentle stride the two of them were walking. He knew where she was leading him: the healing rooms. The woman fretted too much about him, Thor thought. “The jötunn attacked me, but he said at the Bifröst Observatory, more in jest to the captain, that he had not been planning to kill me.”

“You believe him?”

“It makes sense,” Thor said. “I was too busy trying to protect myself on Midgardr, but when he said it, I knew it to be true. He slew those mortals without batting an eye, and yet he … well, there’s nothing more to say other than he was toying with me.”

“You think he was … toying with you?”

“Yes. When we were fighting on Jötunheimr, his actions were much more malicious for he truly sought me bodily harm. It was … ah, it wasn’t the same just now.”

Mother nodded slowly, her eyes on her feet. “Heimdallr contacted me just after you left the Observatory,” she said. “He is suspicious about Loki; he says he was not glamoured from his Sight upon Midgardr.”

“Is that strange?” Thor asked curiously. “Could it have been that he glamoured himself, but Heimdallr saw through the enchantment?”

“No. Loki’s glamours are far too powerful for even Heimdallr to gaze through. He was unprotected, and Heimdallr is certain it was no accident Loki was not shielded from his Sight.”

“What of Father?” Thor asked. “Captain Týr said he had fallen into the Odinsleep; when did it happen?”

“It happened only hours after you … after you left,” Mother said, her steps faltering for half a second before they continued. “Baldr is, of course, too little to take the title of acting king, and you … you weren’t here, so I have become regent in the present time.”

“How has it been?”

“Stressful. What with the jötunns simmering and no doubtedly preparing for war, I have been doing the same for our troops.”

“How many do they number?”

“Our armies are twenty-thousand strong.”

“And the jötunns?”

“Heimdallr is not sure, but he guesses they are fewer in number than we are.”

“Whatever their numbers,” Thor said grimly, “they are skilled warriors.”

“Skilled, but they fight with little armour,” his mother said, confidence lacing her tone. “Our warriors have been trained to kill jötunns, whilst they have been trained, no doubt, to stamp on every enemy they meet.”

Thor gave a twitch of a smile. The battle on Jötunheimr he, Sif, and the Warriors Three had fought was still fresh and alive in his mind. He frowned in thought. “I think we have far less to worry about than you think, Mother,” he said quietly.

“What do you mean?” she said.

“When I went to Jötunheimr,” Thor started, “I saw they fought with far less skill than I was expecting, even for a race of savage monsters.”

“You think they are unprepared for war?” Mother asked. “Thor, remember it was Laufey who declared open warfare with Asgard.”

“Because of my actions—”

“Whether they were your actions or not, Laufey gave call to war,” she said calmly and patiently. “He would not have done that if he did not think he could win.”

“His warriors—”

“Thor, I value your words, and I listen to them with a warrior’s ear,” Mother said, “but I think with the mind of a tactician. We must assume Laufey is not calling a bluff, and therefore we must prepare for the worst, even if he only has one warrior fit for battle. The only time we will know for certain of Laufey’s numbers and the skill of his warriors is when they are on the open battlefield. They could be warriors who have barely been trained in the arts of war, or they could be as skilled, or even greater than someone like Loki.”

“You call him by his name — Loki,” Thor noticed.

His mother tensed, stopping suddenly. Thor tried to catch her eye, but she looked away from him determinately.

“Why?”

“I am glad you don’t remember,” she said in a hushed voice. “It breaks my heart to look upon his face. It makes me wonder … if things had turned out differently …” She took a small intake of breath, gazing resolutely in front of her and she strode forwards towards the guards outside of a set of gilded doors. “Open them; my son requires healing.”

“Mother.” Thor was standing someway behind her, looking at her with wide eyes. “Loki … his name is Loki. Surely it’s not—? The name is not uncommon….”

She nodded. “I thought you would have forgotten.”

“How could I forget?” Thor said. “But the Loki I knew was Æsir….”

“Appearances can be changed, Thor. But before Laufey took back his heir, you called him a brother.”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki didn’t think it very considerate that the guards did nothing to remove his chains, even if they did take the muzzle from his face. It had cut him badly, leaving his jaw and the inside of his mouth covered with thin scratches. What they did do, though, was shove him in a room that was blindingly white. Energised walls locked him inside, transparent enough Loki would have forgotten they were there if it hadn’t been for the golden glow at its edges and the slight hissing noise they made. He went to the wall, peering beyond into the dungeon. It crossed his mind for the first time that this place was the most natural he had seen, despite the lavishly constructed cells. The long corridor was made of stone, and Loki sighed in relief — not even a golden torch bracket lay in sight. He thought amusedly that it must have been some kind of miracle for this place not to be gilded in gold.

The occupants of the other cells looked at him with half-lidded eyes and snarls upon their lips. Horned creatures, dark creatures, and bizarre looking creatures with snake-like eyes stared at him curiously. Loki noted that none of the prisoners seemed to look Asgardian; it made him wonder whether he was in a section of monsters, or if the Æsir were too precious to imprison their own.

Loki clenched his fists and an icy blast issued from his body, coating the walls of the cell with a layer of frost. It was a display of dominance on one hand, and on the other, it did, to a small degree, make the area colder. The other prisoners looked to him, some deterred by his power, others not so much. Loki could hear their faint howls and calls, and he bore his teeth and displayed his claws in return, holding his head high and flaunting his horns.

After a few minutes of assessing the other inmates, he turned to look at his cell. He had grown bored of the jeers and calls directed his way, of the things pressed against the walls of the cells that banged their fists at him upon the energy fields, and some even made lewd gestures towards him. The cell he was in wasn’t small, easily twenty paces long and wide with a bed in one corner, a chair in the other, and a pot against the back wall which Loki could relieve himself in — not that he fancied it with those sorts of neighbours. He lay down on the bed, the flat pillow barely raising his head from the small mattress.

It was far more comfortable than the prisons on Jötunheimr, though. These Æsir were so soft, Loki thought; it was a wonder they had the reputation they did.

His horns scraped against the wall as he pushed his full length onto the bed, growling in frustration as his neck was forced up. He rolled onto his side irritably, curling up his legs beneath him and staring at the white walls. They hurt his eyes after a few minutes, and he rolled onto his other side so he faced his cell, trying to find a comfortable position. Eventually he gave up, moving from the bed to the floor and shoving the pillow under his head grumpily. Damn these Æsir, and why couldn’t they give him a bed that was long enough for his height, horns included, if they were going to be so kind to him?

He was stiff, sore, his hair was tangled about him in knots, and it didn’t help his simmering frustration. It was with ill grace he allowed them to remove the chains when they brought a meal for him later, breakfast by the looks of it, before he slumped down in the middle of the room and went to sleep as the sun came up in Asgard.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 15-06-'14

“I want you to leave me, now.”

“My Lady Queen, look at him — he’s savage!”

“And where did you get that idea? From the horns on his brow? From the house lines? From the blue of his skin or the red of his eyes?”

“He’s a frost giant!”

“I know that, and I said for you to leave me. Now.”

“Of … of course, Your Majesty.”

Loki heard the tramping of booted feet getting quieter the further the guard travelled from his cell and he opened his eyes. Damn them, what time was it? Surely the middle of the day! But then, when had they cared before?

“Do not expect me to change my sleeping patterns to time with your visits,” Loki said, not turning around as he stood. Three nights had passed since he’d come to Asgard, and he had been aware of every time Frigga had come to visit. She had stood outside his cell, doing nothing but looking in at his turned back and the slow rise and fall of his ribs. He truly had been asleep the first time, waking when she left, but she had returned the day after, and the day after that. Loki was sick of her silent watchfulness, and so today he would find out what she wanted, if only to satisfy his curiosity.

“Look at me.”

Loki turned around. “Queen Frigga of Asgard,” he drawled, inclining his head in a mocking bow.

“Loki,” she said, her breath heavy.

A frown pulled at his face and he padded towards the wall of the cell, head cocked to one side and eyes narrow. “And why do you impose such familiarity?”

“Because I called you a son once.”

Loki banged his fists upon the energy wall and screamed, “You have no right to call me your son, you _bitch queen_!”

She did not react in the way Loki was expecting — to draw back with a horrible flinch and hurl insults his way, to call for the guards and bestow upon him the muzzle once more. She did nothing, and it irritated him immensely. She only looked at him with —  _how_ dare _she?! —_ pity.

“You will always be my son.”

“After staying against your bosom for a mere decade?” He prowled in front of her, staring at her beneath lowered brows and dark horn. “It has been a millennium, hornless queen, and yet you still call me your son?” He stopped, looking at her out of the corner of his eye and hissed, “Would you be proud of me? Proud of the so-called _beast_ I have become?”

“You have grown into a fine young man,” Frigga said, clasping her hands in front of her. “How could I not be proud?”

His fingers danced with a hint of magic. A glamour came over him, his horns disappearing from his brow even if he still bore their weight, his familial lines fading, and his skin paling. He gave a flicker of a smile as he saw something dance in her eye as his transformation complete — anger, perhaps? No … that was loss, loss for the son that stood before her, the son with the pale skin and sunken emerald eyes she now saw before her.

“Would you still be proud, knowing of the monster beneath the skin — beneath the lie — I would have surely worn had I still been here? Do you find it harder to detach yourself from me now?” he asked, walking towards her once again, his steps even and measured. “Tell me!”

“I would, no matter what appearance you took.”

Loki hissed in rage and banished the magic. “I do not love you, and I never will,” he spat. “I have a faint memory of this place, nothing more than a passing thought.”

“And what is that?” Frigga asked.

Loki could see her grabbing at any line that came close to her, trying to draw herself into him and find a solid footing with him to open his heart, but he would not let her. “I remember pain,” he whispered. “I think of you, and I think of pain.”

“Loki, please listen to m—”

“It was not pain of heart I felt — I felt true, bone-bending pain. Did you wonder not why I screamed so much? Did you just think some words and soft blankets could have quietened me, something so foreign?”

“Would you like me to apologise for feeling love for you?”

“You think to bring sentiment with your words?” he snarled. “You, who stole me and filed my horns to dust? Who deprived me of my title and purpose? Ten years Jötunheimr mourned for me, and ten years I screamed for Her, and all you do is ask me to stop crying. When my sire came and took me back, I went through even more pain to have my horns restored from their flattened state, pain from the magic to fully tie me to Jötunheimr that should have been carried out so soon after my birth I should never remember it, and pain from adjusting to the climate of my home.” He shook his head, his eyes distant with memory. “And that is my earliest memory — pain inflicted by your ‘love’.”

“You were a child abandoned in the heat of battle!”

“Abandoned?” he said, incredulous. “I was no more abandoned than Thor was by you at the same age. I was hidden in the temple so I would have been kept safe from the likes of your beloved husband! And yet how many children did your _merciful king_ cut down in his war? Why show me mercy of all people? Because of who I am, because of the use I would have been to you now if everything had just gone according to plan?!”

“You would have been my son,” she said heavily, as if she was tired of debating the point. “Nothing more, nothing less. I would never have used you as a political tool, Loki; I would have felt only love for you.”

Loki was far from tired of it — he needed to drive her away, cast her from himself forever. “And here we are again. I will say once more — would have you been proud of me? Would you be able to gaze upon me — me, who’s so different from you — and call me your son? Would you have been proud of Laufey’s _runt_?”

“I would have loved you as my own, and I did when you were with us. You melted my heart, and the Allfather’s.”

“Babies have a habit of doing that, but they grow out of it.”

“When they are yours, they do not.”

“But I am not yours, am I?”

“You are as good as,” Frigga admonished.

Loki growled quietly at her use of the present tense, still insisting he was hers. He sat heavily on the bed and laced his fingers together, trying now for a different tactic than flat out denial. “Whether or not I would have been a son in everything but flesh and blood, it begs the question of would I have ever loved you back? You, who would have lied to me without a second’s thought if you thought I would have been better off, made to hate my own people so I would have been ashamed to see myself as I truly am and left to wallow in self-loathing. How much would your heart break then, hornless queen? Would you ever be able to forgive yourself?”

“I wouldn’t,” Frigga said bitterly.

Loki snarled; damn the woman and her soft heart! Why wouldn’t she just  _leave him alone_? “You are nothing to me! Not as a regent queen to be respected, not as an equal in royal blood and status, and especially not as the mother you once hoped to be to me. Asgard — wonderful, glorious Asgard — will fall beneath Jötunheimr if that is what it will take to open your eyes and see me as I truly am. Your false images of kingship that must be bestowed upon your brows with fancy helms to give you your horns will be crushed. Did you ever wonder why the kings of Jötunheimr take so much pride in their horns, why it was such a grave insult to file mine? _Do you_ _?_ ”

“I cannot say I understand,” Frigga whispered, and the words sounded like they were wrenched from her chest. “All I know is that they are only found amongst those of royal blood.”

“They are so important because they are so heavy, why a crown prince’s and king’s are so much bigger than the other princes’,” Loki said, his voice poisonous. “Heavy like the burden of kingship, and not lightly removed like those _ridiculous_ metal hats you wear. Such is the responsibility a king has for his people. Such is the weight of the royal family of Jötunheimr. I was born with the horns of kings, and whilst I may be small, whilst I may be a runt and you saw me only as such, I am so much more than that.”

Frigga was silent. Loki knew she was reminiscing on the order she had given to file Loki’s small horns when he had been a baby taken in by Asgard, and she no doubt remembered how terrible Laufey’s anger had been upon the discovery it had almost broken the treaty of peace Asgard and Jötunheimr held.

“Our natures are very different, hornless queen,” Loki said, “and let me tell you here and now I would not have done well under your care. Jötunheimr is a part of me, and I would have suffered without Her touch.”

“Then tell me this, Loki,” Frigga said, picking her words carefully, “did Laufey come and take you back as a father, or as a king seeking his heir?”

Loki fell silent before saying, “The choice of distance between myself and my sire is something you Æsir would never even begin to comprehend as an act of love.” The corner of his mouth curled into a smile at the small reaction she had given. “You find it surprising the jötnar are capable of something like love, hornless queen?”

“I never doubted it.”

“Don’t lie,” laughed Loki softly. “You see us only as savages. Our love is very different to yours, but it is so much more powerful than your twisted concept of the thing. You think the love between a parent and child gives strength, but it only feeds the image that a parent will always protect his child from the world and be there for his every whim. Such then, is the shock when life shows one how cruel and harsh it is. Tell me now — is that what Thor is feeling now — bitter resentment for his dear mother and father because of his stranding on Midgardr? Does he feel abandoned, lost, destroyed, confused? Hmm?”

Frigga said nothing, and Loki knew he had won that particular argument.

“We’re done. Leave me, now.”

* * *

#

* * *

Frigga’s heart was hard. It had been her goal to determine how Loki had grown, his state of mind, and what he was doing here. She had thought on Heimdallr’s words. Loki was smart, very smart. He had jabbed at where it would hurt, and his strikes had been true. She in turn had played her part, acting hurt and desperate, and as such, he had showed his heart. He was not here by accident — he was here by design; his relaxed demeanour and innate joy at pricking her told her that much. But it tore at her: how cruel he was, what Laufey had made him into. Her memories were still full of the small baby laughing wildly up at her, green eyes alight with life and wonder as she conjured small puffs of coloured smoke for his enjoyment. She tried her best to shut them out — that was the past. But she could not help but think of the future that had been snatched away from her in the shape of Laufey demanding his heir. She mourned Loki, and what he could have had.

She stormed from the dungeons, snapping to the guards to watch Loki carefully and to make sure his every need was seen to. He was crown prince of Jötunheimr, she argued, and he wasn’t going to give up just yet. She knew Loki had been determined to upset her, and it had worked to a degree. She walked through the castle found herself in the throne room before she could make a conscious decision about where to go. She blinked sharply when she heard a small voice say, “Mama? Why are you crying?”

Frigga looked down at her feet and found her youngest, Baldr, looking up at her. She gave a smile.

“It’s nothing; I was just having some trouble with the kingdom, sweetest. Come here.”

She knelt down in front of her son and held her arms out for him. Baldr hugged her, and she stroked his hair. It was the same colour as hers, curling just as hers did as she ran her fingers through it.

“Was it the frost giant?” Baldr asked.

Frigga frowned. “Yes, it was the jötunn.”

“What did he do to make you cry?” Baldr asked, looking at his mother with wide eyes.

“He …,” Frigga started. After a few seconds of silence, she said, “We talked. We talked about some bad things that happened a long time before you born.”

“Is he old, like Father?”

“No, no he’s younger than Thor, sweetest,” Frigga laughed. “I just hoped things could have turned out differently between me and him.”

“Mother.”

Frigga looked up to see her other son striding towards them. He looked better than he had done three days prior, dressed in fine leathers and his hair still wet from being freshly washed. Bandages were wrapped around his arms.

“Baldr, dearest,” Frigga said, turning her attention back to her youngest, “perhaps you would like to go and play with Nanna? I’m sure she’s looking for you.”

Baldr nodded eagerly and ran off.

Once he left the throne room, Thor said, “I take the talk with Loki did not go as planned.”

“It did, actually. I got what I wanted.” Frigga drew herself up, looking after Baldr as he ran through the door to the antechamber beyond the throne room in his hunt for Nanna. “But he’s very closed off. He … ahh, he was difficult to talk to because …”

“He’s jötunn,” Thor supplied.

“He’s not the babe I once knew,” Frigga finished. “Do you remember him, Thor? Loki said he had faint memories of Asgard.”

“I do, but only snatches, so small I thought they were only imaginings until talk came up of him in some form or another over the centuries.”

“What do you remember of him?”

Thor sighed. “That he was different.”

Frigga couldn’t help but feel disappointed by the answer. She did her best to hide it, though.

“You wished for something more,” Thor said, reading her expression. “I could talk to him if you would like.”

“No, no it’s alright,” said Frigga, waving Thor’s offer away. “I appreciate the thought, but it’s quite alright. As I said, I got what I wanted from him.”

But the look in Thor’s eye said otherwise.

* * *

#

* * *

Loki had barely gotten back to sleep when he sensed someone standing behind him once again. He sat up, bleary eyed and wishing to rest, when he saw Thor standing outside his cell.

Loki leered. “Asgard’s golden boy,” he acknowledged, rolling to his feet and fighting down his yawn. “What would a prince of Asgard want with someone such as me? Someone he calls a monster?”

“I want to know if what you said to my mother you said from the bottom of your heart,” Thor said bluntly.

Loki rested his horns against the cell wall and, looking deep into Thor’s eyes, hissed, “I meant every word, _boy_.”

He was disappointed in the lack of reaction Thor had, so different to what he had done not five days past on Jötunheimr. Again, he wondered what could have inspired such a change in the prince.

And then Thor asked a question that took him aback instead: “Why?”

“Why?” Loki repeated dryly. “Is it really not that obvious? I was stolen from my home, from my sire and my birthright. Wouldn’t you feel resentment towards someone if they did that to you?”

“Probably; I wouldn’t know.” Thor paced in front of the cell, but Loki remained where he was, horns pressed against the wall and following Thor with his eyes. “I can try and empathise with you, but it would be a poor attempt to understand what you would be feeling.”

“Good, because I do not wish for anyone to try and feel for me. You can only get it horribly wrong, what with your distorted view on Jötunheimr and Her peoples, with your lack of insight into my position, and very little idea about the labyrinth of my mind.”

“Then let me ask another question, and I would appreciate it if you answered it truthfully,” Thor said. “I can imagine you must hate the peoples of Asgard as they do to yours, but I ask of you now: why do you hate us? Because of what happened to you, or because of what happened to your people? Is it their hate you feel?”

“I hate Asgard because of what you did to Jötunheimr,” Loki said heavily. Now he followed Thor around the cell, keeping in step with him until they reached the corner of the second transparent wall before they turned and walked back along the edge. “The stories I have heard of Jötunheimr when She was in Her height, and what I have seen during the Nóttvísa make Asgard look all the more silly. You cannot understand my love for the place that She is today, of the sweeping glaciers, of the snowfalls, and of the fjords that carve Her landscape. I spent my childhood dreaming of what She used to look like before the war and before the Casket was ripped from Her. When I was a child, I ventured from my sire in the middle of a snowstorm and stood upon the roof of Útgarðar’s castle. I reached for the heavens and stayed there until I was found, but I had a thought that would drive me for a long time. I thought, ‘If this place is already beautiful, what sort of paradise was She before?’

“My link to Jötunheimr is something of pure power and magic, something you surely do not feel towards the very ground of Asgard. When you ripped Her apart with your lightning, you did not hear Jötunheimr scream, did not feel Her pain, but I did. It is an ancient bond the royal family have to the land, and it is something that cannot be explained until you feel it. It pulls at your very being and every shift, every snowfall, and every tremor, you feel vibrate within your very bones. With the removal of the Casket, Jötunheimr is dying. It is a thought always in the back of my mind, an ache in my gut that will never go away, a seething rage burning in my heart, and a despair that has gripped my entire being since I was tied to Her. And when the night comes that I will take the throne, I will have nothing left to rule. I will have barren tundra plagued by starvation and the dead.

“And that is why I hate you, Asgardian, because of what you have done to my home, and what you have turned my legacy into. I will be the last king of Jötunheimr; the realm will die with me. My hatred is not blind like yours.”

“Neither was mine; your people killed thousands of the Æsir, and your father was the cause of mine losing an eye.”

“And yours is the reason my sire and my brothers and I labour under so much more than we should,” Loki laughed darkly, “and in extension, our people as our ice melts and our land crumbles away.”

“My hatred for you was based on the children who grew with me who never knew their fathers, for the wives who grieved the loss of their husbands throughout the centuries when they had been cut down by Jötunheimr, for the fear you instilled within the people of Asgard.”

“Hmm.” Loki stopped, looking at Thor with a raised brow. “You value the feelings of the few who suffered at the hands of the jötnar, those who will die, and then the hole that was left by their loss closes. I value the lives of the children of Jötunheimr who will be born into a future that is nothing but broken rubble because of your sire, and I pity how they will look upon our once mighty empire and play within the bones of those towers your sire decimated. You care for only the short term, whilst I grieve for the long term and know that that burden is on _my_ shoulders. I will be remembered as Jötunheimr’s runt king that drove the realm into the ground. If that is not justified hate, then strike me dead.”

Thor inclined his head. “Thank you.”

“For what?” Loki hissed.

“Your hatred is born of dire consequence and desperation,” Thor said simply. “Mine is …  _was_ … born of ideal.”

Without another word, Thor left.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 16-06-'14

If Býleistr had been a less patient person, then he would have been unable to reach his sire through his insurmountable wrath at the capture of his younger brother. Laufey’s wrath had not abated for nights. He stomped through Útgarðar, his temper short, and his decisions about the kingdom and the war harsh and unforgiving to not only Asgard, but to his own people as well.

“Those Asgardian bastards!” he roared. “Taking my heir as prisoner like some common _criminal_. They will pay for this in the blood of many.”

“Sire, it’s not what you thi—”

Laufey snarled at him, the sound so loud and full of rage Býleistr shrunk back against the wall, quivering. He usually didn’t bend before his sire, having far too much experience with Laufey to be much affected by his rampages, but this was something Býleistr had never seen before — the truly murderous look in his eye and the curses he flung to Asgard which were so foul and grotesque Býleistr just had to wonder what some of them even meant.

“Get the army ready,” Laufey barked. “I want those two thousand warriors who were deemed fit for battle to be ready to march at sunset.”

“Sire, you cannot,” Býleistr said frantically.

“I can, and I will!” Laufey bellowed. He grabbed Býleistr’s jaw and pulled him close, digging his horns into his son’s head painfully. “You will learn your place.” He threw Býleistr away and he stumbled back, a hiss on his breath.

“Please, Sire, I am trying to say you cannot act so rashly,” Býleistr implored. “Loki has been captured, I know that, but it does not mean you should march the best of our army to their deaths over one—”

“ _Over one runt_ _?_ The runt who is my _son_?” cried Laufey. “You will listen to me: you will put aside your bitterness towards Loki and the burden he bears as the next ruler of Jötunheimr. You do not know the blessing you have been given.”

“My thoughts on the matter have nothing to do with my want for the throne!” snarled Býleistr. “My thoughts on the matter come from clear thinking and logical choices. Loki is not stupid; he will figure a way to solve his predicament. Asgard will not be able to hold one so powerful, especially one with the look of someone so weak.”

Býleistr jumped away from Laufey as his sire swung at him. Perhaps, he reflected, it hadn’t been the best choice of words.

“Loki is my child — my heir — and he is great.”

“Sire, please listen to yourself — listen to me! Loki is not the babe you came back from Asgard with a millennium ago. He is grown, and he is dangerous. Think of your love for him, Sire — he will not learn if you save him once again. Loki has brains, he has guts and daring, and he has cunning. He has magic at his disposal, and his appearance will cause the Asgardians only underestimation before he will slaughter them.

“So please, trust me. The best thing for you to do now is to wake the sleeper agents in Asgard and direct them from behind the scenes. Loki will be free at the cost of far fewer lives, and perhaps many more victories than you even think.”

“Leave.”

The unexpected order took Býleistr aback. “Sire?”

“I said, _leave_.”

Býleistr didn’t need to be told a third time. He gave a stiff bow and turned on his heel. He went through to the antechamber, brow lowered, and muttering obscenities under his breath.

“Býleistr?”

He paused. “Helblindi,” he sighed. He crouched in front of his brother, beckoning to him.

Helblindi shuffled from the shadows, looking at his older brother cautiously. “What is Sire going to do about Loki?” he asked in a whisper.

“He wants to march on Asgard with our armies and take him back, by force if necessary.”

“Why can’t he do that?” Helblindi questioned. “He’s the king.”

“It’s more complex than that,” Býleistr explained patiently. He sat himself on the floor, gesturing to Helblindi. Helblindi scrambled into his lap, and Býleistr began to stroke his hair. “We don’t know how strong Asgard’s armies are, and because we have been immobile for so long because of the war, we need to gather our strength before we would be able to stand a fighting chance.”

“Sire is strong, though.”

“I know, but there are more reasons other than we might be driving the jötnar to their deaths,” he explained patiently. “They have Loki, and if Sire acts, then they could — and would — hurt him.”

Helblindi shuddered. “Monsters.”

“Aren’t they,” Býleistr agreed. “Sire’s problem, though, is that he is scared. You know Loki was taken by the Æsir when he was a baby, and Sire thought him dead for a decade. I remember it — the whole of Jötunheimr mourning for his loss. So when it was found he was alive, Sire acted and brought him back.”

Memories came flooding back to Býleistr then, of Laufey being deposited by the Bifröst in the middle of the day, a tiny bundle in his arms. Býleistr remembered looking in horror at the flat discs on his brother’s forehead where his horns should have been, rough and unpleasant to the touch. Touching them had upset Loki as well, for he had writhed and squirmed with discomfort in his bindings.

“Leave them,” Laufey had said, his voice dripping with undisguised contempt for the Æsir. “They will be fixed soon.”

“Will he be alright?” His own voice, high and scared and that hadn’t acquired the growly texture of an adult, echoed through his mind.

“He will, but it will be in a long time to come.”

“Brother?”

Býleistr came back to the present, blinking rapidly. “Helblindi,” he said at once.

“I asked if Loki could get himself out. He’s clever enough; he could do it.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him, brother; I wouldn’t put it past him at all.”

* * *

#

* * *

The frost was melting fast in the cell and Loki was panting heavily. The heat was awful, and he hadn’t slept in two days. The frost wasn’t helping as it had done before; it was thin on the walls, easily swiped away by his fingers and it did nothing other than leave the cell wet and uncomfortable. Loki hadn’t moved much in those two days, arms and legs spread wide on the slightly raised floor at the centre of the cell, twisting and turning in an attempt to find a comfortable, cool position. He was covered in sweat, his hair matted with filth, and his mouth and tongue were bone dry. The only times he moved from the centre was to drag himself to the edge of the cell when food was shoved in through the slot. The water was the most welcoming part of the meals, for he had enough magic left to him to chill it before sipping it, fighting not to gulp the whole glass down. The lukewarm food he did not touch, for even its meagre heat was too much for him to bear, now.

But he was too proud to ask the guards for any change in routine or — _Oblivion forbid_ — help. Every time they approached his cell, whether in passing or to give him food, he glared heavily at them until they disappeared again. What little energy and magic he had left went into trying to keep as cool as possible, but he refused to acknowledge he was fighting a losing battle.

“Up, monster.”

Loki raised his head weakly as one of the guards opened the slot by the door, a tray of food in hand. Loki laid his head back down, too hot and bothered to slug over to the food and eat. He lifted his lip in warning instead. The guard snorted and turned to leave.

Loki blinked heavily and sat up, eyeing the distance between himself and the tray of food. Yes, it was too far, and he didn’t want to force down anymore of the sludge the Æsir thought was adequate for a pure carnivore like Loki. His skin stuck to the floor as he rolled over, panting. His utter exhaustion at his lack of sleep, the intense heat, and the complete monotony at the nights made the hours crawl by. The most exciting thing to have happened for a long while now was that a new inmate had been shoved into the cell across the hall from him.

She was a fierce thing to look at, a huldra who shrieked and slammed herself against the glowing walls time and time again. Whilst Loki had found it somewhat entertaining for a while, he quickly grew bored with her and wished she would shut up. It was harder than ever to try and sleep with the added distractions.

Overall, he was miserable. But it was a necessary misery.

After the guards from this shift walked their last round, Loki stuck his fingers down his throat.

* * *

#

* * *

Graff rapped on the wall later that night, the jötunn’s evening meal in hand. He slid the food — bread, watery stew, and soaked vegetables with a half glass of water — and looked to the runtling giant out of pure habit. He expected a snarky remark as had happened every day for the past two weeks, but he gave a frown. The beast was lying on its side, back towards him, and its breathing was shallow, far too shallow to be healthy.

Then he noticed the puddle of vomit.

“Bergr, get Hulther,” he snapped.

“Why? What’s happened?”

“Frost giant’s covered in vomit. You don’t think the heat got to it?

“It’s not that bad in here.”

“You ever been to their rock of a realm? Freeze your toes off within five minutes.” Graff looked back to the jötunn and swallowed. “I’m going to go and see if it’s faking or not.”

“Be careful.”

“Well, lock the door behind me if you’re scared.”

Bergr shuffled forward as Graff inserted the key into the mechanism before entering through the side door. It was locked behind him at once, and he crept forward.

“It’s bloody cold in here.” He prodded the jötunn’s side with his spear and he received a faint hiss in response. Then Graff grabbed one of the huge horns upon the monster’s head and lifted it.

It looked awful. Its eyes were sunken, the skin around them discoloured a deep blackish purple and it was drenched in sweat. The only protest it gave to Graff’s handling of it was a small whimper and a twitch.

“It’s sick, and I don’t think it’s acting,” Graff muttered. “Bergr, get whoever’s on healing duty here, now.”

“Yes, Graff, of course.”

Bergr hurried off as Graff lowered the jötunn to the ground, retreating as far as possible from it with one hand on his sword.

Nothing much happened as he waited for Bergr to return.

The healer he brought with him flew to the jötunn’s side at once, cursing lightly when she straightened up. “Heat exhaustion. His body was never meant to be exposed to such temperatures such as this for this long a time.”

“It’s mild in here, though,” said Graff.

“For him, it’s like a desert.”

“You’re right; it is.”

Graff’s head snapped up and he cursed as the door to the cell boomed shut behind them. He ran to the energy field, shouting for Bergr, but he realised too late the second guard had followed himself and the healer into the cell. Where he should have been stood the frost runt, and although it looked far from healthy — its eyes were still sunken and its shoulders hunched with discomfort — it was otherwise unharmed, and its expression curled into a leer. The jötunn by the healer’s feet vanished in a sliver of green light.

“You honestly didn’t believe I would have collapsed from something like this, now?” it said, head tilted to the side. “It’s nothing I cannot handle. But I thank you for getting my out of that cell — it was getting so tediously boring.”

“Get back here, monster!” Graff bellowed, slamming his fists into the wall.

“Oh, please, since when has that ever worked?” the jötunn scoffed. It flicked its wrist, and Graff exclaimed as a glamour covered the cell, erasing him from his sight as well as the other two. They were replaced with a copy of the giant, sitting against the wall and looking dubious. “I’ll be seeing you,” the beast outside said. “Thanks for that.”

It pivoted on its heel and walked to the stairs.

* * *

#

* * *

Ignoring the other prisoners he passed was harder than he thought. It wasn’t that Loki felt any attachment to them per se, but because he thought of the distractions they would bring to the Æsir as he wreaked havoc in Asgard. The reasons he didn’t release them were twofold: firstly, he needed to stay as inconspicuous as possible — for the Æsir would surely look for Loki firstly when they discovered the breach in the cells. The second was because they would make his task a lot harder in the security crackdown, and he had no desire to make this any harder than necessary.

No, he needed just maybe an hour or two before it would have been good to be discovered.

Thinking on that, he cast a second glamour to replace the two guards now locked away in his cell. The shadows came to life, marching down the corridor with measured steps. Loki’s satisfaction with his job well done was dampened by the other inmates as they continued to howl up a storm.

He cleared his throat. “Be quiet!” he roared in the Allspeak. “If you wish to see the downfall of this so-called mighty empire, then you _will_ do as I say.”

As expected, they did nothing and Loki groaned with frustration. He raised his hand, and a shower of magic issued from his fingers. Its purpose was to intimidate, and it certainly achieved the desired effect because a majority of the prisoners fell silent.

“Patience,” he continued, his voice lowering to almost a purr. “Your revenge and freedom will come in time.”

He then walked up the dungeon stairs.

Loki came to the guardhouse, pausing just beyond its view as he collected himself. It would be best if he had his armour back.

His glamour made him almost as good as invisible. To an observer, the air would seem to waver slightly where he was, and sometimes, when he was younger, this had led to his discovery during games with his older brother and the other sons of Útgarðar. The key to keeping undiscovered was to move slowly. But even with the enchantment, it would be better to be on the safe side, not to mention the armour was some of the finest artisanship in Jötunheimr, and he would have hated to lose it.

Loki padded to the guardhouse, crouching low as he skulked to the chamber. He pressed himself against the wall. Listening at the door, he heard nothing inside before he pushed it open the smallest of fractions—

—before retreating once again, stifled curses on his lips. Four guards were inside, seated around a table with tankards of mead by their propped up boots.

 _Drinking on the job_ , Loki thought. _Arrogant fools._

“We have to do something about that huldra,” one of them said. “She’s going to drive me insane with those screeches of hers.”

“Be happy you’re not one of those poor sods of prisoners,” one of the others snorted. “No escaping it then.”

“That frost runt’s in the cell opposite her, isn’t it?” said the third one.

“Yes, he is,” the first one said.

“Who is he, anyway? I’ve never seen a horned frost giant before. Heard Laufey has ‘em too, but it was just one of those things I never really believed. They’re nasty looking things, aren’t they? Could gut you if angled right.”

“Perhaps he has horns to make up for his stature,” the fourth one interjected. “Surprised that he was even reared beyond a baby, what with his size.”

“Maybe it was kept alive because the beasts find some amusing trait about it.”

The stone under Loki’s fingers was slick with frost and his lip was drawn back in a silent snarl. The Asgardians knew _nothing_ about him or his people.

“I’ve heard he’s some kind of prince,” one of them mused.

“Him? A prince?” another scoffed. “If that runt is a prince, then Laufey is surely more insane than we give him credit for. How would he even live that down amongst those savages? You’ve surely heard those stories about how unforgiving they are to each other. Those heritage lines they have? Scars — they carve them into their newborns babes.”

“Monsters,” was the mutter that ran around the room.

Loki’s fingers flitted across the lines; they had no concept of what they really meant, or, it seemed, what they were. They weren’t scars; the lines were made of living ice, _kykrsvell_ , which settled under the skin and gave rise to the patterns. Scaring newborns … the nerve of them.

Loki opened the door slowly, and one of the guards looked up at the movement.

“What’s with the door?”

Another shrugged. “Just close it; sure it’s nothing. Keep telling the warden the hinges need replacing, but he never listens.”

Loki slithered out of the way as the closest one heaved himself to his feet and pushed it shut. Loki then went into the antechamber where the belongings of the prisoners were kept. Shelves lined the room, and after a half minute of searching, he found his scale armour. Smiling in triumph, he pulled it over his head and he froze as it fell over his shoulders loudly; surely, the guards had heard it.

“What was that?” one of them said sharply.

“In there.”

Loki stood stock still as the door opened, banging against the wall. He inched forward as two of the guards entered, looking about themselves with wary eyes and hands hovering close to weapons upon their belts.

“Anything?” a voice called from the other room.

“Nothing I can see,” the guard at the front said. “Doesn’t mean something couldn’t be hiding behind one of the shelves.”

 _Or right in front of you_ , Loki thought as he slipped around the two. _It’s funny how not one of these guards has looked for magic, either in here or in the cell. Do their thoughts about the dishonour of the craft really run so deep they would not even consider it a possibility? Or,_ he mused, _that the jötnar are too stupid to wield it, perhaps?_

Whatever their reasons, no one thought of anything as the door quietly opened once again as Loki slipped out. His pace hurried to a fast walk and he shifted his glamour. He came into sight once again, but he altered his skin to the pale colour of the Æsir, covering his horns and changing his clothes to ones more suitable for Asgard instead of the furs and leathers of Jötunheimr he wore; his armour was hidden, of course. Even with the glamour, he had a hard time not to summon and shape an ice weapon as a troop of guards came around the corner. They ignored him as he bent his head slightly towards them and he grinned inwardly.

Now to find Hruga.

* * *

#

* * *

“My prince, what took you so long?” Hruga demanded. He was jumpy.

Loki rolled his eyes as the glamour dissipated. “If you have been offered the most golden opportunity to gloat at the royal family of Asgard, wouldn’t you have stayed, too?”

Hruga snorted. “Twelve hours I’ve been standing here waiting for you, Your Highness.”

“Reign in your tongue,” Loki said ominously. “You speak very boldly to me.”

“My apologies, Your Highness. I-it’s just that the Einherji I killed and replaced had a wife. I’ve had to go to her and pretend to be her husband, and it’s been stressful! I have no idea what the man was like, and she was suspicious of me obviously, and I was going mad.”

“Must have been having a better time than myself, though,” Loki said, laughing. “At least you weren’t in a dungeon and confronted by their queen.”

“You saw Frigga?” one of the other jötnar said, eyebrow raised.

“She wanted to reminisce on old times,” Loki said mockingly.

The four other jötnar sniggered. Loki growled at them and they fell silent at once.

Hruga’s job after escorting Loki to Asgard had been simple — wait for Býleistr to contact him. That had come just hours before Loki had escaped after sixteen days in prison. Býleistr had also given Hruga and Loki’s rendezvous location to the four sleeper agents Laufey had stationed in Asgard three or four centuries ago. Each of them was an accomplished magician, able to cast a glamour such that they could fool even Heimdallr for their true sizes and strengths for such a long period. Their leader was a jötunn named Hymir. Loki remembered Hymir as a close confident and friend of his sire, and his memories of Hymir were ones of glad times when the jötunn would carry Loki upon his shoulders.

“What news from my brother?” Loki asked him now.

“Not good,” Hymir sighed. “Býleistr-Prince has had a world of trouble to deal with in regards to your capture, and he has had huge troubles to cool Laufey Konungr’s rage enough to stall his attacks upon Asgard.”

“Why?” Loki asked. He knew it was a bad time to ask, but Frigga’s words rung in his mind:

_“… did Laufey come and take you back as a father, or as a king seeking his heir?”_

“You are his child, Your Highness,” Hymir said lowly. “He loves you. That is all the reason he would need to attack the Allfather’s forces.”

Loki nodded stiffly; he couldn’t know if what Hymir was saying was the truth, or whether he was saying it because Loki wanted to hear it, but he was grateful for the words either way.

“But there were troubles, Your Highness,” Hymir continued. “Laufey Konungr has the army poised and ready to march at a moment’s notice.”

Loki cursed. “How much of a push would he need to topple?”

“The lightest thing will bring him running.”

“Then we don’t have much time,” hissed Loki. “You three,” he snapped, pointing at all of them except Hymir and Hruga, “come with me, and Hymir.”

“Yes, Your Highness?”

“I want you to bring my sire running.”

“A-and what of you, my prince?” Hruga stammered.

“Us?” Loki asked, sweeping his gaze around at the others now waiting for his orders. “We, my friend, are going to finish what I have come here to do.

“We’re going to get ourselves a Casket.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 16-06-'14

“We will have to move as quickly as possible if we are to succeed in this task,” Loki said as they flitted through the golden city. “The Weapons Vault is heavily guarded if we have anything to go by.”

“Which is, Your Highness?” one of the sleeper agents asked.

“The three who decimated in their attempt to get the Casket back,” Loki told him. “I can only guess as to what defences they have in their Weapons Vault, but they are sure to be many and powerful. Which is why I need you three. With your magic and mine combined, I’m hoping it is enough to overcome the defences set in the Vault.”

“And if not?”

“We’re dead.”

“Not a happy thought, my prince,” someone joked.

“Indeed so, and it is why I’m rather hoping we manage to succeed in our task,” Loki said dryly.

He jumped, leading the jötnar onto a low rooftop that he used to gain a higher level on the next building. Soon, they had traversed to the highest roofs in Asgard, a mere hundred metres from the palace. They remained low, nursing their reserves of magic which none of them dared waste on glamours and small tricks of vanishing; they could do that themselves without aid of magic.

“Your Highness, where is this Weapons Vault?” one of the casters, Gríðr Loki thought his name was, grumbled.

“Under there,” Loki said cheerfully, pointing at the palace. “Far, far below Asgard’s golden halls.”

“And how will be get there, my prince?” another asked.

“By walking through the front door.”

Without so much as another word, Loki jumped from the roof and into the courtyard of the palace.

Six Einherjar stood outside the doors, and their relaxed postures became alert at once. Weapons jumped into hands and were pointed at the Loki as he landed lightly on the marble. The other jötnar dropped down to the street, duty bound to their prince. All summoned ice to their hands.

“I guess you won’t be letting us pass without a fight,” Loki said flatly.

“Do everyone a favour here, and come quietly,” one of the guards said, his voice as regal sounding as he could make it.

Loki rolled his eyes, twirling his knife in hand. “What is with you bloody Æsir and demanding something that will never happen?” He shrugged, hefting the weapon’s heavy butt into the centre of his palm and wrapping his fingers loosely about the blade. “No matter; I won’t kill you any quicker or slower for your attempts at diplomacy.”

The fast strike of Loki’s initial attack gave them the advantage. He dropped the knife through slack fingers before he threw it. It flew from his hand, its aim true, and it buried itself deeply in the Einherji’s chest. The shock from their comrade’s death slowed them enough that two more fell with ease, but the remaining three put up more of a fight. One of them slashed wildly, and the sword he held was deflected off Gríðr’s blade at too shallow an angle. He roared in pain as the metal bit into the flesh of his shoulder. Loki bellowed in anger and drove his elbow into the ás’ face. The man cried out in pain, stumbling away as one of the others followed Loki’s lead and stabbed the Einherji in the face. One more was eventually cut down and the last of the guards, recognising he had lost the fight, turned and fled.

“Jötunns!” he shouted as he ran. “Frost giants are attacking!”

“Silence him, quickly,” Loki snarled. “We can’t have them alert to our presence yet.”

One sent a knife whistling through the air and it landed with a soft _thump_ in the guard’s back.

“It’s _jötnar_ , not _jötunns_ ,” Loki hissed. “Now come on,” he continued, running forward along the corridor and leaping over the lone corpse now sprawled in the atrium. “Move quickly. Kill anyone we meet.”

By the end of the run to the back of the long, corridor-like atrium, Loki’s eyes were watering from the bright shine of gold. Perhaps that was its purpose: to deter the likes of jötnar who were nocturnal creatures in an attempt to give the Æsir a tactical advantage because, surely, no one liked gold _that_ much. Well, apart from the dwarfs, Loki conceded with a tiny shrug. A huge flight of steps wound their way up and down through the palace, each direction guarded by two of the Einherjar who were quickly and efficiently slaughtered. But they had been waiting for them; the other Einherji’s shout must have carried further than Loki thought.

He could hear the stirrings in the palace, could imagine the Einherjar donning armour and reaching for weapons as they looked for the jötunn attack.

“My prince! Where are we going now?” someone asked. “This isn’t the way to the Wea—”

“I know,” Loki said, “but it can’t hurt to have a few allies, right?”

The familiar steps to the dungeons came into view, and the guardhouse Loki had raided before burst open.

“Oi!” the lead Einherji shouted. Five others were behind him, but none of them were the guards Loki had encountered before. “You’re supposed to be in—”

“But I’m not, am I?” Loki stated as he and the others fell on the guards.

The fight was short, but one of the other sleeper agents, Gjalp, sustained several gashes to his side.

“Stay here,” Loki told him, looking at Gríðr as well as he said it. “Heal yourselves, and I’ll be no more than two minutes.”

“Where are you going?” Gríðr asked.

“To get the allies.”

* * *

#

* * *

The prisoners were not overly inviting of Loki when he came back down. He cast a quick glance to his cell; the glamour still held. He banished it, and the two guards and healer swam into view. He gave them a wink and a smile once they realised the spell had been lifted. Their eyes went from the last jötunn, Ægir, to Loki. The healer was shaking, hugging herself as Loki made his way to the centre of the corridor and raised his hands high.

“I said, if you had patience, I would allow you to take your revenge on the Æsir,” he called, eyes going from one prisoner to another. “I keep my promises. Off you go.”

The magic he used was powerful, so much so he staggered back as he tore the enchanted barriers down. The prisoners inside burst free, hardly any of them sparing a glance towards Loki and Ægir and instead charging for the stairs. The huldra whipped passed Loki, and he heard a hiss of, “Thank you, love,” from her. She flew passed them, her ox’s tail vanishing with a snap up the stairs and a battle scream upon her lips.

“That should keep the Æsir busy for a bit,” Loki said, shaking his head to clear it. His ears were ringing and he swayed slightly where he stood.

“My prince, are you alright?”

“I’m fine; let’s finish the job we came here to do.”

They went back up the stairs more slowly whilst Loki recovered from the magic use. By the time they got to the guardroom and found the other two, Loki had gathered his surroundings enough that they could continue onto the Vault.

It was a deep place, many storeys below the ground in an isolated part of the palace. The air was frigid and cold, something the jötnar all welcomed with a sigh of relief. A vast chasm greeted them, a chasm in the middle of which, connected by walkways at either end, was the Weapons Vault. Loki could feel a connection in his chest, a whispering voice that called to him from inside the Vault and a grimace came to his lips.

“Come on.”

They strode up the walkway and Loki kicked the huge doors open. Eight guards were inside to greet them. They pointed their weapons at the jötnar, but Loki had no eyes for them. His gaze had snapped to the very end of the room, glossing aside all the other treasures with an indifferent eye — a golden gauntlet stood upright on a stand; a burning flame in a golden — _damn the Æsir and their love of gold **—**_ dish; a stone tablet engraved with runes; an orb; an eye with a burning white glass pupil. Loki’s eyes were for what was on the pedestal in front of an iron grid.

The Casket of Ancient Winters. The Fornvetr.

The whispering grew louder, voices distinguishing themselves from each other now. Loki heard them all, heard them singing of winter and ice and snow and beauty, of home and how the Casket was missed by Jötunheimr. He bore his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut and indulging in it.

_Come. Come. Come._

“Charge!”

The shout brought him back to the present. His eyes flew open and he raised his hands. A blast of icy wind issued from his fingers, shards tearing at the cloaks and faces of the Einherjar, and they instinctively threw their arms up to shield themselves. Ægir, Gríðr, and Gjalp took the cue and flew at them quickly, dispatching the Einherjar and throwing them aside with snarls and flashes of ice and blood.

Loki descended the steps, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the Casket, and his head swimming with the songs and cries of the thing.

_Come. Come. Come._

_I’m almost there._

He stopped, inches from the thing, and stretched his hands out to grasp the ends.

As soon as he laid a finger against the Casket, Loki groaned with something that could only be described as utter ecstasy. The rush of its fullness and the howling of the winds trapped within coursed through his entire being, filling his veins and singing in his blood. And for the first time in his life, Loki felt whole and so completely and utterly comfortable not even Asgard’s heat bothered him in the slightest. The Casket’s absence from Jötunheimr had always left a gnawing hole in his gut, and now he laid his hands upon it, it was filled in an instant. Ice shot from beneath his feet, ferns of frost coating the floor and walls as the power of Jötunheimr’s ancient magic reached through him and resonated with his very core. This was his birthright, his inheritance, and it was beautiful. His cheeks were wet with tears of joy and delight and he found that, oddly, he didn’t care, and neither did he care that he had collapsed over the pedestal, the Casket pressed against his chest because that _joy_ —

“Prince?” Gjalp whispered.

“It’s …,” Loki murmured. “I … I can’t—” He shuddered, rubbing the heel of his palm in his eyes. “I’ve never felt something like this before.”

He would never let this feeling go.

And so, Loki lifted the Casket from its resting place.

He flinched back as the iron grid behind it started to break away, and from beyond came forth a hulking suit of sleek, silver armour. Loki had heard of this thing only in whispers of fear amongst the jötnar when he had been a child growing up in the royal court. It was a game they had played — the Destroyer running and grabbing at his friends before decimating them with fire. Loki had always been caught first, what with his shorter legs, and so it was with a grim unpleasantness he faced the real thing now. It filled itself with fire and lowered its visor, the links and gaps between the plates glowing cherry red as the fire built and built and built—

But Loki merely grinned. He held his arms out to either side, the Casket gripped tightly in his right hand, and, as he had done to the younger children when he had pulled rank on them, whispered, “Do it. Kill me.”

* * *

#

* * *

The seconds ticked by agonisingly slowly. The five of them stood stiff and frozen, each waiting for the other party to move.

“What are you waiting for?” Loki demanded, stepping forward to glare up at the Destroyer. “You can’t let the Casket fall into jötunn hands once again, can you? So strike me down and take it back. _Kill me_ _!_ ”

The Destroyer did not.

Loki’s grin widened. “You cannot hurt your son, can you?” he growled. He hadn’t missed the opening of the doors behind him, and he turned on his heel.

“Don’t do this,” Frigga said from the doors. “We can talk.” Behind her were more than fifty guards, each with swords drawn and pointed into the Vault.

“Talk? Ha! Give me one reason to leave my inheritance locked away in your Vault collecting dust like so many other stolen relics,” Loki spat. “You cannot keep this from me, hornless queen. If you could only truly understand what the Casket completes within me, how I am no longer hurting after such a long time, would you see that if you forced it from my hand now, my wrath will ensure the deaths of everyone in this palace, starting with you and your family.” He stepped forward, and frost spiked from under his feet and glittered on his skin. Mists from the low temperature of his flesh coiled off him. And he could see in Frigga’s face her fear for this power of Loki’s.

“Kill the others; capture the prince — injure him if you must,” she ordered. “Laufey will not forgive us if we murder his heir.”

Loki drew the power from the Casket, a tiny wisp of what was inside, and he released it with an echoing cry. A shockwave emanated from him, a blast so cold and frozen it made even the jötnar shudder from the temperature. The Æsir recoiled. Frigga threw up a barrier of her own. Her magic protected not only herself, but the Einherjar as well. The Destroyer was undeterred by Loki’s attack, and its visor opened once more. Heat gathered within, and it released a blast of fire. Loki snarled when Ægir was burned to ash in a second. He whipped around, dashing to the Destroyer. He jumped, landing heavily on the titan’s shoulders. The metal would have burnt his flesh badly if he had not been holding the Casket. Ice formed where he touched the Destroyer, thick enough to allow him to place his bare skin on the body, but it still didn’t stop it from melting fast under his hands.

Loki took the Casket between his knees in order to free his hands. He formed on his arms two great spikes of ice, encasing his flesh to the elbows, and they were far bigger and harder than he had ever managed before. He drove both of his hands into the sides of the Destroyer’s neck. He didn’t stop there, however. Loki’s only hold upon the thing now was from the spikes, and he bellowed as he froze it. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have ever dreamt of doing such a thing at such a close range, for he would have been burnt up before he’d managed to even give it the slightest amount of damage, but he had the Casket now, and it was at his beck and call.

It was enough to counter the fire for only a little while, but Loki was still pushing into the thing huge amounts of the magic inside the Casket. Then he began to wrench his hands apart, and the metal of the neck began to break. It screeched and grated as it did so, and it was with a scream of triumph Loki ripped the head from the body.

The fire within the Destroyer spluttered and died. It fell forward, cracking from the now unforgiving ice. Loki smashed it to splinters with a hard blast of magic from his palm.

“Fear me!” he screamed. “Fear me … and hate me.” His eyes rested on Frigga.

“Hold fast to your courage,” Frigga called. “Seize him!”

The Einherjar charged past her, and Loki raised the Casket. He released the magic within and the bitter, howling winds froze several of the Einherjar in place, ice encasing them within a space of seconds that Gríðr and Gjalp then smashed to pieces. Loki took up pieces of the Destroyer and flung them at the Einherjar. The shards slowed them down enough that he had time to draw upon the Casket again.

Gríðr was the first to fall. He was driven to a knee by no less than six Einherjar, the wound in his shoulder finally overcoming him. He was beheaded by a single stroke of a sword. Loki cried out in rage and directed the magic of the Casket at the warriors. Five perished within the ice, but the sixth managed to back away, his blade still laced with Gríðr’s blood. Loki ran after him, shaping within his hand a long knife and slashing and stabbing at any who came close to him, rage burning in his heart at the deaths of Ægir and Gríðr. He knew he shouldn’t have been reacting like this — they had been grunts, only bore the lines of lowborn nobility — but the deaths of the jötnar angered him more than they had when Thor had attacked.

But there were too many soldiers. If Loki had wielded the Casket before now, he and Gjalp might have made it out, but they were both tired, Loki untrained with the Casket, and Gjalp injured.

“Prince!” Gjalp yelled. “We must leave — now!”

Loki closed his eyes, drawing in the power of the Casket and, in one last blast, released it. The room was cleared for long enough that Loki could dash to Gjalp, bark at him, “Get ready!” before he made a hole in the roof. Stone and rubble fell around them, landing on the Einherjar. It distracted them for long enough that the jötnar could scramble up the columns, hauling themselves up the stonework with spikes of ice they drove into the walls.

Gjalp reached the roof before Loki, who emerged a few seconds later because of the Casket tucked under his arm.

“Run,” he growled. He sprang forward, running as fast as he could along the roof to the walkway they had entered upon and where the Einherjar were currently stood. The other walkway was filled with Einherjar as well.

Loki showered the Æsir under them with shards of ice, thin and sharp and they rained upon their heads. Some threw up their shields, and Loki landed on them, running along before jumping off the last of them and onto the stone once again. He looked back for Gjalp, but the jötunn had been caught up within the Einherjar.

“Go!” he roared. “I’ll catch up!”

 _Liar_ , Loki thought, but he turned and fled anyway.

Now he needed to get out, to run for the Bifröst and never look back, to make his way to Jötunheimr after one last fight with Heimdallr. His heart was pounding in his chest, loud in his ears, and his legs burned as he flew up the stairs three at a time. His lungs were equally painful, the sharp gasps of breath he drew coming to the front of his mind too much for his liking; he needed to ignore it. He could tend to it once he was back on Jötunheimr, tend to it all he wanted, but not here. He had to keep going.

And he had to pray Hruga and Hymir had done as he asked, and that Laufey had listened.

When he emerged in the atrium, it was nothing short of utter Chaos. The prisoners he had released were engaged with the Einherjar, and Loki saw elves, fire demons, wraith-like creatures, horned creatures, and creatures made of rock and stone fighting the forces of Asgard. Blood and bodies littered the floor, and screams filled the air. Loki grinned at the Chaos.

“Loki!”

He whipped around, hissing with surprise as he saw Thor charging down the stairs. The armour he had worn to Jötunheimr was gone, replaced with leathers and a chainmail shirt that were poor substitutes for what he had had before. His hair was tied away from his face, and in his hand, he carried a war hammer. It was a pitiful thing next to Mjölnir, but it was still on Midgardr, far from Thor’s reach.

“You’re a fool to think you can challenge me,” Loki snarled. He brandished a knife in one hand, and the Casket in another.

“I’m not going to fight you.”

“Then why the getup? Mother Dearest wouldn’t let you wander down without protection?”

“Do not mock her,” Thor growled.

“And why not? She is not my mother, never was and never will be. I am Loki-Prince of Jötunheimr, Son of Laufey-King, and his consort Fárbauti Cruel-Striker. And don’t pretend you do not say things against my sire.”

“Used to; I’ve changed.”

“I haven’t. Now fight me. Fight me for being the jötunn, fight me to take back the Casket, or fight me because your savage little brother needs to be taught his lesson; pick any reason you want.”

“I won’t.”

Loki snorted, pushed the Casket away into the negative space, and charged. He swung his knife at Thor, and he ducked under it. He backed away as Loki advanced, and it was only for so long that he could evade Loki before he hit him. Loki ducked beneath the hammer, twisting away and summoning to his other hand a staff. He swung it at Thor. It smashed against his hammer, but unlike when he had fought with this weapon against Mjölnir, it did not break. Loki brought the other end around, gripping it now with both hands after dropping the knife. He rained blows upon Thor, merely waiting for the opportunity. The prince’s face was twisted and red, a visible effort to parry Loki’s almost casual blows. But it was not the staff that brought Thor down — it was a kick to the chest. Thor went down with an _oomph!_ , and ashout went up from one of the Einherjar.

“Protect the prince!”

Nine men surged forward, but two were trampled by a rampaging troll who proceeded to take one of the corpses up and use it as a club, beating away the Einherjar with savage roars ripping from its throat.

“Looks like no one is coming to your aid, golden prince,” Loki said delightedly. He stood above Thor, picking up his knife from the floor. “And where were we before on Midgardr? Ah, yes. Please give your most sincere apologies to the jötnar you slew.”

A flash; that was all it was. Loki jumped away, cartwheeling through the air as a concentrated blast of fire smote the spot he had been standing upon. He looked up, hair flying, at Odin Allfather who stood upon the steps, Gungnir in hand, and wearing full battle armour.

“You’re supposed to be asleep!” Loki bellowed. He summoned the Casket back in hand, ready to use it if necessary.

Odin’s eye flashed. “Drop the Casket. Now.”

“I have two words to that,” Loki said, backing away. “Fuck. You.”

And then he ran, streaking along the hall and dodging the fights of the Einherjar and the prisoners. He hid behind them, knowing Odin wouldn’t dare try to stop him lest he hit the Einherjar, and it was a weakness Loki was only too happy to exploit.

He burst from the palace, stumbling down the steps and almost falling onto the polished marble courtyard. Ice spread from under his feet, and it gave him enough traction not to trip. He had originally wanted to cause some destruction to Asgard on his journey back to the Bifröst, but the thought had been driven from his mind at Odin’s awakening. The Odinsleep was something that was supposed to last for months! And yet, it had only lasted for just under three weeks this time. It was infuriating, confusing, and upsetting on Loki’s part. He’d been looking forward to destroying the golden city, but the Allfather’s awakening had changed his plans.

The ice under his feet was slick, and he shot through the streets, travelling far faster than he would have been able to if he had been merely running. He was almost skating at points, tearing past the confused and terrified cries of the Æsir as they came from their houses to see what was happening at the royal palace. Loki too chanced a look back, and his heart thudded in terror as he saw Odin following him. He was still maybe half a kilometre away, but he was mounted on his huge grey war-charger, Sleipnir. He could hear the eight hooves striking the ground at a fantastic pace as he came to the gates of the Bifröst. A troop of guards was there, and — Loki cursed his ill luck — Týr was heading them.

“Halt!”

“How many times do I have to tell you,” Loki groaned, “that that bullshit won’t _work_?”

He raised the Casket and an icy gale surged forth, flinging shrapnel at the Einherjar who ducked for cover. But Týr wasn’t deterred. He raised his sword, and Loki met it with one of his own. Ice skittered against steel and the two of them circled each other, engaging and slashing at the other before falling back. Loki kept glancing towards the gate and to Odin who was drawing closer and closer with every second of delay. Loki had vowed to cut Týr’s hand off, but after weighing the odds, he gave the captain up as a bad job and directed the Casket at him. Instead of severing the appendage, Loki froze it.

Týr bellowed as he fell to his knees, clutching at his right hand and staring in horror as the ice that now encased it.

“Farewell, now,” Loki growled. He jumped up over the captain and kicked him under the jaw for good measure. He hit the ground running, flying up the Bifröst Bridge. His goal was so close now. Two hundred metres … one hundred metres … fifty. He could almost taste Jötunheimr’s air again, feel the snow between his toes, and the embrace comforting darkness of Her nights. He skidded to a stop outside the Observatory, casting an approving eye over the sprawled figure of Heimdallr in the doorway. Loki smirked, jogging to the centre of the room. The Guardian’s sword was lodged in position from where Hymir and Hruga had left it.

Loki gripped it. He pushed down. Lightning arched from the sword and the whole Observatory began to turn—

Gungnir’s blast to his back would have decimated him if it had not hit the armour first. But it sent Loki sprawling, and he howled with loss as the Casket flew from his grip. It clattered onto the ground, skidding away into the shadows. It was, if anything, forgotten by the Einherjar — had managed to make it in a nick of time — in the scramble to restrain Loki.

The icy wind from the Bifröst was missed, too.

Loki struggled to get back to his feet, to seek the object that had soothed him and given him such a great power. He reached for it with a choked cry, but he was restrained by half a dozen guards at once. Loki tried to freeze, hoping to cause severe frostburn, but the thick gloves of the Einherjar protected their delicate skin from the unforgiving bite of cold. His hands were pulled behind his back, his hair tugged on as the muzzle was brought out once again. It was placed around his jaw, and the mouthpiece cut his tongue and the insides of his cheeks. Loki kicked out at the Einherjar, but Týr placed an edge of his sword under Loki’s throat. Loki looked to his hand — it was icy white and damaged, and he wished he’d just killed the Einherji.

“I knew we should have killed you as soon as possible,” Týr spat, grabbing one of Loki’s horns in his free hand and wrenching his head to the side.

Loki tried to get at him, murder igniting in his eyes at the blatant insult, but the manacles tore at his wrists as he pulled at them.

“Now, now, monster, none of that.”

Loki’s eyes slid past Týr to the Bifröst beam, and triumph thrilled through him. He’d done it. And it had worked so beautifully he would have laughed aloud if he had not been held down and the muzzle forced around his mouth.

From the Bifröst came Laufey, and silence fell as he took the scene in.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDITED: 16-06-'14

Laufey’s silence was shock at what was happening in front of him.

“Sire,” Loki called from under the muzzle. His shoulders shook from the supressed laughter, and it rumbled deep in his chest.

Laufey’s snarl ripped through the still air, and the Einherjar levelled their weapons at the jötunn king as he advanced.

“Æsir bastards,” he hissed in the jötunn tongue. He strode forward, grasped Heimdallr’s sword, and wrenched it out of the mechanism. “How _dare_ you?”

Týr held the sword closer to Loki’s throat, pressing it into the soft skin under his jaw. Loki hands, still behind his back, clawed at the Einherji’s armour, but it was useless; he doubted the man even noticed. “Stay back,” Týr ordered.

 _Don’t_ , Loki begged silently. _Take up the Fornvetr! Kill them all!_

Laufey turned, and his eyes fixed on the soft glow of the Casket. He surged towards it.

“Leave it,” Odin commanded.

Laufey stopped, his growl echoing around the Observatory. “You ask me to choose between my son and the Casket? If I save my son and leave it here, my realm dies. If I take it up, my son and heir perishes.”

“If you were half the father you imagine yourself to be, the choice shouldn’t be difficult,” Odin said.

 _Take it_ , Loki pleaded silently. _Sire, I’m begging you — take it._

Laufey drove the sword into the floor, roaring with anger at the choice he was faced with.

“Loki.”

The softness of Laufey’s voice halted Loki’s struggles and his eyes snapped to his sire.

“Forgive me.”

Laufey took up the Casket and Odin snarled. “This is my last warning, Laufey.”

Laufey turned, hatred burning in his ruby eyes. Loki closed his own; what had he expected, really?

“Hverfa.”

Laufey’s whisper was so faint Loki almost missed it. His eyes snapped open, and through his exhaustion, through his hurt and through the heat and sweat and ache and discomfort, Loki threw his shoulder to the ground. The sudden movement twisted Týr around as Laufey held the Casket out and released a blast of ice. Týr tumbled over, and Loki hunkered behind the man as the wind howled around him. Sleipnir, with Odin still astride, leapt back onto the Bridge as the Observatory was coated in ice. Loki squeezed his eyes shut, trying not to shiver as Týr froze behind him, shouting and cursing until he was stiff with ice and the wind died.

“Loki.”

Týr was wrenched off him by Laufey. His huge hands gripped Loki’s wrists, and he froze the manacles. Loki cried out as true, bone biting _cold_ pained his arms, too much for even the jötnar to comfortably withstand, much less a smaller one like Loki. The manacles cracked, and Laufey tore them off, throwing them to the other side of the room. With shaking fingers, Loki undid the muzzle and let it drop to the floor. He was shivering, rubbing his jaw as he pushed a small amount of magic into his wrists mouth to heal them.

“My thanks, Sire,” croaked Loki. He spat a glob of blood onto the icy floor.

The entire Observatory was thick with ice, something Loki could have only achieved with many years of practice with directing the ice from the Casket. The gold was hidden by white frost, icicles hung from every surface possible, and several Einherjar, who had been unlucky enough not to escape, lay frozen over. Some were dead, others alive. Across to entrance was a clear barrier of ice. It several feet thick and filtered the light of Asgard outside; the Observatory was lit by soft blues and silvers, now. A blast shook the place slightly, a blast from Gungnir as Odin tried to get through the ice barrier. Cracks spidered through the ice.

“Sire,” said Loki, wonderment in his voice. “How …? How did you do this?”

“Practice,” Laufey replied, “and rage.”

And then, something happened which surprised Loki so much he cried out in shock: Laufey crushed him into a hug. Loki’s struggles stilled after half a second as he realised what was happening. His surprise kept him still until Laufey let go.

“Never,” Laufey growled, “do something like this again.”

“Trust me, I’d rather not,” Loki replied. He looked towards the barrier again, to Asgard that was distorted oddly through it. “It’s horrible here — hot, unpleasant, and with too much gold.”

“Why did you do this?” Laufey asked.

Loki frowned. Wasn’t it obvious? And if it wasn’t, couldn’t this discussion wait until they were back home?

“Loki,” Laufey pushed.

“For you,” Loki whispered. “For Jötunheimr. I planned it all.”

Laufey’s voice rippled with anger. “Why did you not tell me of your plan?”

“Because, when a piece is ignorant of his part, does he play his role best. You would had never of agreed to it, and your anger is something that I could not make you fake; it had to be real, and it was … it is.”

“Of course it is; you are my son.”

Loki shivered with delight at the words, pride bursting in his chest. He smiled wolfishly. “We need to go. The ice won’t hold much longer.”

Laufey took up Heimdallr’s sword again and pushed it into the Bifröst mechanism. Ice cracked and shattered as the dome began to spin.

“I’m proud of you,” Laufey said.

Loki looked at him as the Bifröst pulled them forward to Jötunheimr.

* * *

#

* * *

The cold air was bliss. When Loki and Laufey landed upon Jötunheimr, the realm itself seemed to sigh with content. A shiver passed through the ground and Loki, hand to his throat once he realised what he was doing, purred with delight. It was a sound he rarely, if ever, made, one of such pure joy is resonated with his very core.

Laufey held the Casket in front him and it glowed brightly. Loki could hear the voices within singing eerily with delight.

“Sire! Loki!”

Loki looked up to see Helblindi running at him, tripping and stumbling through the snow such was the excitement at seeing his older brother alive and well.

“Loki!” he called.

“Hey,” Loki said, and he thought back to three weeks ago, when he had woken with Helblindi looking at him with the same grin on his face, the same love emanating from his voice.

The Æsir saw the jötnar as monsters and, no doubt after today, saw Loki as nothing more than a savage, a sociopath, and, maybe even, deranged. And how they must have started to dread him, knowing it was he who would sit on Jötunheimr’s throne. He may have been cruel, may have been cold to even his own race, but he wasn’t uncaring.

Loki staggered backwards as Helblindi hugged him tightly. After a second or so, Loki returned the hug, his head resting on top of Helblindi’s as he said softly, “I’m sorry I scared you like that; I’m sorry.”

“Come on,” Laufey said. “We’re not done yet. The Allfather will come after us and the Casket.”

“So we do what?” Loki asked. He hadn’t thought to foresee as far as this; his plan had ended as soon as he had taken the Bifröst back. It was a shortcoming of his Býleistr had said would be the end of him one night: Loki failed to see consequences, and it had gotten him into undesirable circumstances more than once in his life.

Laufey gave a smile. “Don’t you remember we’re at war? And the first thing to do is to build yourself a stronghold. You were there when I ordered Útgarðar to be fortified. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten?”

Loki had forgotten, and his face darkened with embarrassment.

Laufey snorted. “Did you think we were doing nothing in your absence?”

“I was hoping you’d spend all your energy worrying about me,” Loki joked.

“If you wish me to worry, then I’ll say this: sleep. You deserve that, at least.”

“Sleep? At a time like this?” Loki asked, incredulous.

“Helblindi, stay with your brother; that’s an order.”

So Loki had little to no choice in the matter when Helblindi took him by the hand and led him through Útgarðar. Jötnar looked up from their work in fortifying the city. Some uttered cries of relief at seeing their prince safe, some nodded and another shouted, “That’ll show those Æsir bastards!”

“Guard them,” Laufey said to a troop of four guards as they entered the throne room.

They nodded. They followed Loki and Helblindi silently through the castle to the royal wing. Helblindi and Loki turned at once to Loki’s chambers to which Helblindi pushed the door open. Loki stepped inside after his little brother. The low light was an achingly familiar sight to Loki as he wound his way through the furniture and books of his chambers, his eyes fixed on the bed. He sank onto it, sighing at the softness of the furs upon it, curling his fingers into the slightly coarse hairs and closing his eyes.

“Welcome back, brother,” whispered Helblindi, curling up into Loki’s side.

“I missed you,” Loki mumbled, putting an arm around him.

He started to drift to sleep, only then acknowledging to himself how tired he truly was. But before he completely lost consciousness, he heard Laufey roar, “The Fornvetr returns to us! And it has been done so by the hands of my son!”

Loki fell to sleep at the steady chant of his name, a smile on his lips.

_“Loki! Loki! Hail Loki, Prince of Jötunheimr!”_

* * *

#

* * *

Loki stirred to, what seemed to him, minutes later as he felt a twinge in his gut. He opened his eyes and saw the light of the Bifröst through the window.

“Helblindi?” he muttered sleepily. His hand groped for his younger brother, disappointed not to find him by his side.

“Helblindi went back to his own bed. And, to quote him, ‘Loki’s kicked me off the bed’.”

Loki turned his head, a grin splitting his face when he saw Býleistr looking out of the window on the opposite side of the bed, eyes narrowed and arms crossed.

“After sleeping like that for two weeks, it’s been added to the pile of bad habits I need to break,” Loki said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and arching his shoulders in a stretch. “How long was I asleep?”

“You dropped off about this time yesternight,” Býleistr said, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “You looked absolutely flattened when you came back.”

“As is what happens when you haven’t slept in two nights,” Loki grunted. He stood up and rubbed the heel of his palm in his eyes. “What’s happened?”

“Meeting’s been arranged to discuss the past three weeks,” Býleistr informed him. “Asgard isn’t happy with you.”

“They’re never happy with Jötunheimr as a whole,” Loki said. “They just got less approving of us when Asgard annexed Her and we became weakened. Trust me, after hearing those guards of theirs tell me all the problems we’ve been causing them for the past century, you’d think they’d have nothing better to do other than bitch about past incidences.”

“Whatever. Sire’s told you to smarten up,” Býleistr said.

Loki groaned. “Not the gold.”

“Yes, the gold. We’re all doing the gold.”

“I’m _sick_ of gold.”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki hated glittering. He shifted the gold collar he wore slightly to unstick it from his skin, rolling his eyes at Laufey’s disapproving growl. He felt weighed down with the metal, and he swore to squash the imbecile who had made this tradition. He felt like a fool sitting next to his sire, covered with gold bands upon his arms, legs, horns, and strings of it woven into his hair. The white furs he wore around his waist were silken and soft, things he wore only to the finest of occasions. Upon his back and sides, he wore ceremonial armour that was attached to his skin. And around his brow, he wore a band of jade encrusted gold.

Loki looked around to Býleistr and felt a little better to see his older brother looked, if not as ridiculous as him, running a close second. His crown was smaller, the armlets less extravagant, and the gold less valuable, but at least he looked as equally trussed up as Loki. Helblindi again had less, just a simple band around his brow, but he looked happy enough.

Loki faced front, settling back into his seat, and observing the Æsir below them. It was a small diplomatic party, made of maybe thirty or forty nobles — the Allfather and his family, the four others that had attacked Jötunheimr with Thor, and several guards amongst other important looking individuals.

Laufey stood, and silence fell at once. “Odin Allfather,” he started, his voice deep and gravelly, “Frigga-Queen, Thor-Prince, others of Asgard. I welcome you most … _humbly_ to Jötunheimr.”

Loki snorted. Laufey didn’t mean a word he said; more likely, he wished to bathe the snow red with their blood.

“King Laufey, Prince Loki Laufeyjarson” —Loki smirked at the stiff tone of Odin’s voice as he said his name— “Prince Býleistr Laufeyjarson, Prince Helblindi Laufeyjarson, others of Jötunheimr. I thank you for the hospitality you have shown us.”

Loki suppressed a yawn.

“You have come here to discuss the recent events that have shaken our realms, and others,” Laufey prompted. “What is it you wish to discuss at this diplomatic gathering?”

“The war between our peoples, and the theft which has been undertaken from our Weapons Vault.”

Laufey twitched, and his lip curled at the word ‘theft’. “Perhaps I should say that it was you who stole the Fornvetr from us in the first instance.”

“Your attack was uncalled for,” Odin said.

“Our attack was justified, for it was your son who attacked us firstly,” Laufey countered.

“Because your people attempted to take it at his coronation.”

“A few renegade individuals that met their punishment: death at your hands. But your son has not met his punishment for his actions.”

“I banished him, stripped him of his rights and titles.”

“A banishment which lasted for a night cycle — hardly long enough. One night’s banishment does not compensate for the seventy-nine deaths and one-hundred and seven injures he dealt upon us.”

“Your own son killed thirty-seven Einherjar, injured dozens more, allowed several dangerous prisoners to escape who now roam the realms freely, and ended the lives of fourteen Midgardians.”

“The total sum of which does not add up to the damage your son has inflicted upon the peoples of Jötunheimr.”

“But I have not touched on the others that were injured and killed because of the riot he initiated within Asgard when he was conducting his heist.”

And the bickering went on for so long Loki dozed off, thinking of things he would have rather been doing than sitting there bedecked in ridiculous jewellery and pretending to listen. What had they expected him to do? Take the beating Thor had delivered to Jötunheimr and shrug it off? Let his realm die because the Asgardians refused to see that their actions were killing Her?

His attention came back when he heard his name in the proceedings.

“Prince Loki must be punished for his actions against the crown of Asgard,” Odin said calmly.

“You have the _nerve_ to suggest how I treat my own son?” Laufey asked, incredulous.

“Sire,” Loki muttered.

“You came to my realm — my home — to which I have so graciously invited you, and you stand there and lecture to me not only how to run my kingdom, but how to discipline my own family?” Laufey spat. “Perhaps, Allfather, you should look at your own parenting and see how pampering has gotten you into a world of trouble and inconvenience.” He looked pointedly at Thor.

“Sire,” Loki tried again. “The war? Aren’t we supposed to be discussing the war instead of having a pissing contest?”

Laufey glowered, but he resettled himself in the throne and said, “These petty arguments are getting us nowhere. The meat of the matter is this, Allfather — the war. We have the Fornvetr back, and we will not be relinquishing our hold on it. Never again will it sit collecting dust in that Weapons Vault of yours; it will be passed along the line of kings as it should be.”

“You yourself proved that much damage can be wreaked with the Casket,” Odin said. “You led a campaign on a helpless realm for the glory of battle with the Casket as your most important weapon. You have shown that, if in the wrong hands, the Casket is dangerous.”

“Do you wish to be banished from this realm?” Laufey snapped. “And could Gungnir not do the same? Mjölnir even? The Fornvetr is dangerous only in the wrong hands.”

“Pissing contest, Sire,” Loki sighed.

“Be silent,” Laufey hissed. “My hands were the wrong hands, I will fully admit this, and that is why my son and heir, Loki-Prince of _Jötunheimr_ , will hold the Fornvetr after me, and I shall use it only to help my realm recover from the damage you brought upon it if I see fit at the end of this day.

“You have come here, as have I, to discuss a peace treaty between our two peoples,” he continued. “Bad blood is between us, but I am willing to overlook every last speck of it if, and only if, you relinquish your hold upon this realm. With the Fornvetr, we are able to travel more freely to other realms now, and they will be able to assist us with rebuilding through trade. And perhaps, one night, we will be willing to open trade with Asgard as well. Add these clauses to the current treaty we have and erase the ones I have ordered, and we shall have peace. If not, then no bargain is struck and the war has not ended.”

Odin looked uncomfortable, and he twisted Gungnir in his hands. “I am agreeable to this,” he said after a few moments silence.

Laufey stood and descended the steps to Odin. The two met in the space between them. Each took out a blade — Odin from his robes, Laufey summoning one to his hand — and laid the edges against their own palms. Each cut at the same time, not a sound escaping their lips as they reached forth and grasped the other’s hand.

“I swear upon Asgard and to the Norns to the terms you have laid before us today. I am fully agreeable to them, and I will uphold the new peace between our realms,” Odin said.

“I swear upon Jötunheimr and to Oblivion to the terms you have laid before us tonight. I am fully agreeable to them, and will uphold the new peace between our realms,” Laufey echoed.

They drew their hands from the other’s grasp. Odin nodded, if somewhat stiffly, to Laufey.

“And now,” Laufey called in Jötunn, “we shall uphold this agreement with a feast of celebration!”

* * *

#

* * *

Loki had never been one for feasting, so he had excused himself as soon as possible and slipped out of the hall. He climbed the steps to the top of the castle, nodding to the guards tiredly whenever he met them before he reached his destination: a stone trapdoor set into the roof. He shoved it open easily and climbed onto the roof. He sighed, pulling at the bands on his arms but not removing them — he would only have to take them back down later.

From the courtyard, he could hear the celebrations, but he didn’t care for them much. He cast a spell, a small one to block the noise, and turned his gaze to the landscape. She lay silent and still, the ice and snow glittering under the moonlight. On the very edge of the sky, towards the planet’s pole, the flicker of aurora lights could be seen.

“You’re right — it’s beautiful up here.”

Loki jumped and swore loudly as Thor poked his head through the trapdoor looking around interestedly. Loki, out of sheer reflex, shaped a dagger in his palm. Thor flinched back, also apparently anticipating a fight.

“Hold,” he said, raising his hands to show he had nothing.

Loki rolled his eyes irritably and said, “Why are you here, Odinson? How did you get past the guards?”

“I told them I needed to talk to you; they pointed to where you had gone, in fact.”

“I’m going to kick their arses,” Loki muttered.

“May I join you?”

“If you absolutely must, and you promise not to slip a dagger between my ribs.”

Thor chuckled and sat beside him, burrowing into the thick fur of his cloak as he did so.

“You’re still mortal, aren’t you?” Loki asked suddenly. Whilst cold to the Æsir, he had never seen one in so many layers and furs as Thor.

“I am,” Thor said after a few seconds. “Although, I am working on remedying it soon; every day, years of my life slip away as my form wears down.”

“So how many years have you lost, now?”

“I don’t know, not much—”

“Five,” Loki said, running through the maths in his head.

“Fine then, five years, but I’ll be getting a little anxious if it starts tolling up to the hundreds.”

“If you die quicker, then I’ll be able to march on Asgard sooner,” Loki mused. At the look Thor gave him, Loki raised an eyebrow. “You honestly think that, even though it says on some official paper we’re all good and there’s no bad blood between us, I’m going to easily forget my hate? Dream on, little Æsir prince.”

“Will it vanish in time?”

“Maybe it will ease, but it won’t vanish entirely.”

“Because of Jötunheimr?”

“Must I explain my reasons again?”

“No.”

Silence fell again, uncomfortable and stiff.

Then Thor asked, “Is this where you stood when you were a child? In the snowstorm?”

Loki frowned. “Yes, just on the edge there.” The memory flashed through his mind — the raging snowflakes, his fingers and arms stretched wide, and the laughter echoing from his throat, lost to the howl of the winds as it tore at his hair. “My sire was angry with me at that; very much so.”

“Talking of your sire,” Thor said, “Fandral was wondering where the women were. We saw no women upon our … upon our first visit, and again, we have not spotted a single female. Are they not permitted to your courts?”

But the question was lost in Loki’s laugh. He choked, laughing long and hard and he rolled on the ground, tears stinging his eyes as he did so. His stomach began to ache when he saw the utterly confused look on Thor’s face. “Do you really know so little about jötunn culture?” he guffawed. Oblivion, this was _priceless_. “Your mother did not know why we bear our horns with pride, you do not know the proper plural for our people, and now you ask about female jötnar? Then, by all means, tell your friend Fandral that if he wishes to bed someone tonight, it will not be what he is used to. Jötnar are a single sex, we’re … what’s the word … _hermaphrodites_ , as you might say.”

“You are intersex? You can give birth?” Thor asked, surprised.

“Did you not wonder why I bear the matronymic ‘Laufeyjarson’ instead of ‘Laufeyson’?”

“ _Laufey_ bore you?” Thor spluttered. “Then why do you call him ‘Sire’?”

“I can hardly call him ‘Mother’, can I?” Loki said, amused.

“Well … I’ll be damned,” Thor said, a grin splitting his face.

Loki waved a hand, fighting down a hiccup. “Don’t be so strange about it. This way, we have no prejudices about gender, either, unlike you A— Æsir. It’s an upside, if you will.”

“An upside.” Thor looked at him, long and hard and Loki’s grip tightened on the dagger he was still holding. “Mother said you remember Asgard.”

Loki flinched. “My memories of Asgard are not pleasant,” was what he said finally. “I don’t miss it.”

“I can understand you not missing it,” Thor said, “but I hoped you would have had some curiosity about the life you lost there.”

“‘The life I lost’?” Loki said sardonically. “Honestly, you take after your sire with your bluntness sometimes. I lost no life. As I said to Frigga, if I had grown up there, if my identity had been hidden and I found out, your prejudices against my people would shine through, and I can only imagine the self-pitying mess I would have been. And self-pity does not get you anywhere; it makes you act stupidly, and whilst comforts may be given by those emotionally attached to you, others get sick of it and say, ‘grow up’. I am not privy for any sort of pity, Odinson.”

“I remember you,” Thor said quietly.

Loki fell silent, brows furrowed with curiosity. He wanted to ask what it was Thor remembered, but he couldn’t bring himself to; his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth.

But his silence seemed to have done the job, because Thor pressed on, “I have one memory that is especially bright of you. You’d been with us seven or eight years, and I remember straining to see you over the top of your crib. I had made myself a stack of books so I could get to the right height. And I remember, as soon as I got my eyes over the edge to see you, you started laughing.”

Loki couldn’t explain the lump in his throat at the words. _This man is nothing to you_ , he snapped to himself. _You hardly know him._

“It’s your laugh that I remember so vividly,” Thor continued. “It rung of happiness.”

“Happiness,” said Loki, his voice a croak. “Happy … in Asgard?”

“And I thought, when I came to talk to you and you laughed again, just that once, something that was more like a chuckle if anything, and I couldn’t help but compare it to the one I had in my memories. I thought about how cruel and cold it had become.”

“Cruel and cold,” Loki said, tasting the words on his tongue. “Why is that surprising? I was locked in a dungeon, and you were asking why I hated you so much. It is simply who I am — a cold hearted jötunn prince, the future ruler of cruel ice and snows.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~And then Thor and Loki screwed and had 8472986 babies.~~
> 
>  
> 
> We're finished. I hoped you enjoyed it, and be on the lookout for new material from me. You can follow me for more writing and updates at my writing Tumblr: [aylithewriting](http://aylithewriting.tumblr.com/). Thank you for reading this rather silly story.
> 
> —aylithe


	9. BONUS: An Old Rite (Rated M)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’re an idiot,” Loki breathed into Angrboða’s mouth. “You’re a sentimental dipshit ...”_
> 
> \----------
> 
> Loki needed to escape Útgarðar. He didn't expect to be found so soon. A.K.A.: A one-shot that takes place after the events of Casket, because the Angrboða/Loki fandom needs some more love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot bunny bit, and I found this spilling out onto a blank document. Also, I just wanted to revisit this universe because I needed a break from all the angst in my other Jotunheimr AU thing.
> 
> And total amount of clothes worn by Loki: 0. You're welcome.
> 
> And yes I'm reposting this as part of this work because I need everything to be neat and compressed and tidy shush.

The Ironwood straddled a far flung part of Útgarðar and Gastropnir’s territory. It was something spectacular, unique to Jötunheimr, a child of freak events that would never happen again. A star, the goðar had called it. A star had fallen to the planet thousands upon thousands of years ago, and its impact had destroyed the realm, fusing with what was left to create something lopsided. But the millennia had tamed this star, covering it with rock and ice and snow until the planet had rounded itself, creating something much bigger. All that could now be seen of the meteor was its spikes of towering stjarna-járn, packed dense enough to create a forest of metal with needles of ice. Weak sun nor starlight ever touched the ground.

The wild, black creatures of endless nights hunted these trees, drawn by the dark and the sheer cold of the gorge the Ironwood was settled into.

And Loki too was a wild creature.

It had been four nights since the Æsir had left, and after he couldn’t stand the courts and the pressing mass of Útgarðar for a second longer, Loki had left the capital. He had retreated to the Ironwood, shedding his skin into one of the great direwolves at the castle’s gate and striking east, his black fur bristling with gold flakes. Fárbauti, his begetter, had had the gift of shapeshifting, and Loki his only child to inherit it. It was a disappointment to him surely that his runt son had been the recipient of it. In truth, Loki had never asked Fárbauti — Fárbauti held nothing but disdain for him, and Loki returned it with vicious satisfaction.

But Loki couldn’t care for the less about Fárbauti’s feelings. Fárbauti had given him this, and if that was a point of resentment to him? It was hardly Loki’s concern.

In his wolf shape, Loki put his nose to the ground, inhaling deeply as his stomach growled; the stink of _vi_ _ður stoatar_ was sharp, and he grinned to himself, delighted with the prospect of an easy kill. He traced the burrow to the base of one of the trees, and clawed at the hardpacked ice and snow to get to the animals. The glistening ice needles of the trees rattled as he dug into the burrow, following his nose and the terrified _youck-youck-youck_ of the animals as they ran from his questing nose and knife-like claws. He soon found three of the creatures huddled in one of the side passages, and they growled, twisting their bodies like mad dancers as they turned and swiped at his muzzle with sharp little claws and teeth. But Loki had never let such things stop him before.

 _Vermin_ , he thought venomously. _Die._

He snarled, baring his bigger teeth before he lunged. He killed them all within the space of a heartbeat. He sunk his teeth into their bodies, whimpering with ecstasy as their hot blood spilt over his tongue, before he tossed their bodies onto the snow, doing his best to fight the wild instinct that wanted them _now_. He was starving, having worn the wolf shape for two nights as he ran without pause. Part of his reason for his escape from Útgarðar had been for the sheer want to taste _freedom_ after being cooped up in Asgard’s dungeons for three weeks.

Loki left the wreck of the burrow, treading a circle and shaking the snow and dirt from his fur before taking a moment to shift his skin to the one he had been born in. His bones cracked, and a groan escaped him as his arms and legs bent back to their normal shapes, his dark fur retracting into his skin, his face flattening, and his senses dulling to the point of extreme disorientation. He crouched on the snow, naked and shivering with the cold, before he straightened, spreading his feet apart as he regained his balance and waited for his head to stop throbbing.

 _I would have my fur back_ , he thought. But there was nothing to do for it now — he didn’t have far to go. His aching stomach too was more important to him now — it was a constant, gnawing pain he wished to quieten.

His hair was a mess, devoid of the silver thread and the jewels he always favoured. His great horns were still tender, and he winced as they came to his head. Not three nights had passed since the gold been melted into them — a gift of the highest honour that only a handful of kings had received in the past. Loki idly traced the fingernail sized _Úr-Yr_ runes carved at the horns’ bases to help bear the extra weight, and the healing sigils to dull the immediate pain of the procedure.

Loki padded to the _vi_ _ður stoatar_ , picking them up by their spike-laden tails. He trod through the snow, intent on finding shelter. The Ironwood was hardly the safest of places, and it would be a poor death to survive Asgard’s hospitality only to have his throat torn out not even a week later — he doubted his body would be found until months later also.

 _A glorious prince one moment, and wolf food the next_ , he mused. _I would not become Thor. Brattish oaf._

But this was his stretch of the woods, and he knew every tree within a thousand metres of where he was.

He had roamed the Ironwood often in his youth, coming dangerously close several times to being prey of the larger things within the trees. The escaping had been part of the fun though, and it was in playing this game, shifted as a lithe, whipcord-thin káshta, that he had found his favourite refuge here. It was a complex of caverns, stretching so far underground that he had found hot springs in their depths that served to heat the rest of the caves.

He thought longingly of the luxuries that awaited him as he trudged onwards, rubbing the furry _vi_ _ður stoatar_ over his skin in an effort to soak up their lingering body warmth. This place would have frozen one of the Æsir within minutes, but even Loki wasn’t immune to the cold like this.

He was shivering violently when he found the trapdoor. Throwing the _vi_ _ður stoatar_ on the snow, he grasped the trapdoor’s handle and yanked the lid away, exposing the black iron chest sat within the hole. Loki tugged it out with a grunt of effort. Inside were supplies enough to last him several months, including furs, witchfire lights, _hokyah_ powder to drink, seeing stones, and clothes by the dozens. He put the _vi_ _ður stoatar_ on the lid and dragged the chest to the caverns a few metres away.

The entrance was a gaping hole overhung with icicles, thick as his arm and sealing the caverns off for most visitors. Except now the icicles had been broken. Loki hadn’t been back here for years.

Loki left the chest, descending instead into a crouch. He hissed, drawing his teeth back to the gums and skin rippling as the ice shifted underneath like spines. His shoulders bristled with spikes of ice a heartbeat later, and he crept forwards, waiting for an attack as he entered the space. Had someone followed him? Æsir out for retribution?

“Loki,” said a voice, “you’re becoming predictable.”

Loki growled, glaring at the back of the cavern as he straightened up. Fury bubbled in him. “You’re trespassing on my land,” he warned.

“I thought this was _ours_.”

“It is _mine_ ,” Loki corrected. “You are not my mate. I found these caves, and so they belong to me. I curled up in these networks long before you knew me.”

He stood in the cavern’s mouth without shame for his nudity as his visitor slunk from the shadows.

All in all, Loki was surprised about how long it had taken for Angrboða to come to him. Dear Angrboða was a creature of baser emotion, after all. He was good at hiding its existence, yes, but had never quite mastered the trick around those he cared for.

But apart from this fault, Angrboða was a true jötunn — tall, scarred from battle, with a heart harder than iron, and nothing but proud when he boasted the markings of his highborn rank. But he was mesmerising too, the grace with which he trod, and the shifting of his eyes and bone white smile was what had drawn Loki to him in the first place. And Angrboða knew of his winnings, knew how to play to his strengths, and he had once melted Loki’s brain into a puddle as surely as the sun would to ice. But Loki had long hardened himself against that, or so he thought until he saw Angrboða standing before him. It had been too long since he had seen him. Far too long.

“Why have you come crawling here?” Loki asked, turning back to the chest and dragging it inside. “How long has it been? Five decades, six?”

“Three — you exaggerate.”

“Still, a while.” Loki crossed his arms firmly. “And so I ask again — why are you here, Angrboða? Surely you do not seek me for a bed companion. Home is so _very_ far from here, and I’ve no doubt you have amenable bed companions there.”

“I think you know why,” Angrboða said. “News is spreading about what happened, and where you’ve been. We’ve felt it too, felt the life coming back to the ice. The goðar say they can hear Jötunheimr sing again.”

“And She does,” Loki said, sitting back on the chest. He didn’t look at him as he shook the ice from his shoulders. “The Fornvetr has returned.” _By_ my _effort, by_ my _power._ And Jötunheimr sung his name; he felt it now, a soft rumble under the soles of his feet as the realm’s life flowed through the ice and rock. It was a subtle thing, a constant background hum of power, but Loki noticed it all the time, starved for it like the direwolf he had been after its prey. He’d found himself over the past nights frozen to the spot regardless of what task he had been performing before, simply transfixed by Jotunheimr’s Voice without even realising he had been until someone brought him back to himself. He’d lay awake for hours in the day, merely listening and bathing in the song, purring his content into his bed and knowing that it was _he_ who had done this.

Loki was brought out of his musing by Angrboða’s fidgeting. Loki chose to wait for him to say something, enjoying how Angrboða seemed to struggle with his thoughts for a moment.

“You were mad, Loki,” Angrboða said, decidedly calmer than Loki had assumed he would have been. “Storming Asgard single-handedly. You could’ve died getting the Fornvetr back.”

Loki wasn’t impressed by Angrboða’s lack of faith, and Angrboða knew it. He shrunk a little as Loki’s nostrils flared, and he struggled not to click his claws on the metal lid of the chest. Loki lifted his lip a sliver, showing Angrboða a flash of his teeth at the patronisation. “You shouldn’t have been so concerned,” Loki said, deadly calm in his own right.

“And so I shouldn’t be concerned because you weren’t?” Angrboða asked.

“Aye.”

“You’re not a one-man army, Loki.”

“That I am not,” Loki agreed, “hence why I was not alone. But do you doubt me to be unable to trick a handful of idiot Asgardians? And if I hadn’t been successful, so what? My life would have been a small forfeit in the face of retrieving the Fornvetr.

“Can’t you feel it?” he pressed on when he sensed Angrboða about to object. No, Angrboða wouldn’t take this victory from him when the memories were so fresh in his mind. “She sings. She is _alive_ once more. It is power, glory…. And if I too had died like my sire’s sleeper agents—” he swallowed a little at that — he still saw their faces every time he closed his eyes, and their blood spattering against Asgard’s walls “—then so what? My sire would have been rid his runtling successor.”

 _Bitter Loki_ , Angrboða had once called him. Loki could see the name forming on his tongue now, but Angrboða, wisely, changed his mind at the last minute. “You know you lie, Loki.”

Loki made a _pleh_ sound of disgust. “Allow me my bitterness,” he said. “Fárbauti was disappointed. I saw him at the welcoming feast for the Æsir, sitting at the lower tables. As soon as I went to leave, he came to my sire.”

“Your begetter should not be the mark by which you judge your family.”

“It’s not as if his attitude is uncommon. I do not care for him.”

“Yet you speak as if you care for his opinion of you.”

Loki wanted to throw something at Angrboða, and he almost did, before he tamped the urge down; throwing something would only prove Angrboða right. He hated and he loved how Angrboða was not only able to run circles around him, but unafraid to do so. There were many who dared not raise their eyes to Loki, knowing the temper and volatile nature of Jötunheimr’s runt heir. It was hardly worth risking their lives and their careers over him. So Angrboða was such a change of pace Loki had almost sobbed in relief when they had first met.

“Your hair’s coming out of its braids,” he had said. “Why do you put up with it?”

“Potions,” Loki had snapped back, although it was a lie. He had found spit worked just as well on the rare occasion he had brewed something, and it required less pain on his part.

“I think it’s a waste of time,” Angrboða had said; his own head was shaven smooth — the mark of a warrior.

“You should grow it back,” Loki had replied. “It’d do wonders to cover what an awfully lumpy skull you have.”

“Is that your reason for your hair? Insecurity on your part?”

Loki had been shocked at the sheer nerve of this stranger, but his surprise had been far outweighed by his curiosity and excitement of having a sparring match with words. “You’d think I’d be insecure enough with my height,” he’d said. “I find my hair to be an excellent storage place for gemchips. Hair is known for how well it conducts the magebreath within.”

They’d talked for a long while, well after the sun had come up, anyhow. They’d slept together afterwards, tired of their words.

The bright, pleasurable bubble of the memory popped when Angrboða shifted. Loki cleared his throat. “One parent is more than enough,” he said. “You spoil yourself with two.” Laufey’s echoing roar in the chamber of the Bifröst echoed in his mind, then.

“Say whatever makes you happy, Loki.”

“I’d be happy if you left,” Loki said, turning his attention instead to the first of the _vi_ _ður stoatar_. He picked it up and summoned a dagger to his hand to skin the thing. But when Angrboða hadn’t moved, Loki said, “I trust you can find the exit. It hasn’t moved since I last checked. Unless it is your intelligence that has suff—”

“Why are you being like this?” Angrboða demanded.

“Like what? A stubborn, selfish arse? Because I am one.”

“Selfish? Yes,” Angrboða said. “Did you even think about how your expedition could have gone wrong? About how those who care for you would have received the news of your death?”

Loki paused in what he was doing, not wanting to lift his eyes to Angrboða’s. “We are acquaintances that have happened to have fucked each other before,” he pointed out lowly. “It was for the physical aspect of it only.”

“You said I was your lover once.”

“I’ve said that to a lot of people,” Loki lied smoothly. “Do not feel so special.”

“And now the stubborn part shines through.”

Loki jumped back when Angrboða advanced on him. He was only two and a half feet taller than him, a height difference that was not too hard for Loki to stomach, but Angrboða enveloped Loki with his body, crowding him against the wall as he traced his thumbs over Loki’s sharp cheekbones. Loki hissed through his teeth at the pressure, eyelids fluttering and knees weakening. His heart jumped, and he unconsciously leant towards Angrboða, nose twitching.

“Liar,” Angrboða laughed softly. “I see how you react. And all this time since you came to this cavern I could smell your desire. Can you tell me now that you never cared for me beyond that of an acquaintance?”

Loki growled, looking Angrboða in the eye. Now that Angrboða mentioned it, Loki could feel the wetness of his arousal, and acknowledged his cock as it hardened ever so slightly more. He could smell the bitter scent of Angrboða’s own arousal, too.

 _Physical only_ , he chided himself. _It_ _’s been so long_ ….

But he was the one to reach for Angrboða’s lips, kissing them and folding his arms behind Angrboða’s back to dig his fingers into his shoulder blades. He felt blood wet his hands.

“You’re an idiot,” Loki breathed into Angrboða’s mouth. “You’re a sentimental dipshit, and I—” His voice turned into a high-pitched whine when Angrboða turned his head and bit softly at the juncture of his neck and shoulder. Loki rolled his head back, mouth opening in a sigh as Angrboða lathered at the place with his rough tongue. _I shouldn_ _’t’ve … told him … about … that…._

Spit gurgled in the back of Loki’s throat as he opened his mouth and sighed loudly, his hands snaking up to Angrboða’s hair, and his hips starting to move against Angrboða’s. Once, he had tried shifting his shape into one more matching of Angrboða’s height, but had found he had disliked it immensely, preferring how Angrboða pinned him down so completely, the size of him as he entered Loki….

Loki pushed Angrboða away, and Angrboða stumbled a little before he tripped over the chest. He yelped first with surprise and then with pain as he hit the floor. Loki went after him, leaping onto the chest in a single graceful jump and towering over Angrboða. “You worried for me?” Loki called down to him. “Foolish Angrboða. Foolish….” And he followed him down, straddling his lap and grinning almost manically at the look in Angrboða’s eyes. He could feel the other’s erection pressing into his thigh. “I am your prince,” Loki breathed into Angrboða’s ear, rolling his hips in a circle. “I may be small, but I am strength incarnate. I will be king of this realm, and I will reward those who serve me faithfully, and break those who oppose me.” He snapped Angrboða’s belt.

Angrboða hissed at him, strangled in his throat, and Loki only chuckled, nipping at Angrboða’s jaw.

They slept curled together afterwards, sticky fluids cooling in the air between them and crusting their skin. Loki drifted in and out of a doze, hardly bothering to hold back his croon when Angrboða kissed his collarbones, his hand creeping its way down Loki’s abdomen and past his cock to the still wet place between his legs. Angrboða’s seed still trickled from there as Loki’s did from his own legs.

“I’d wager you missed me,” Loki said, sighing as Angrboða’s fingers skimmed between his folds.

“Am I that obvious?”

“You’ve always been obvious to me, Ange. I’ll admit it is a pretty façade you keep, but I can see through it in a heartbeat. How do you feel knowing that?”

Angrboða shuddered, and Loki purred. He leant forward to steal another kiss, before placing his forehead to Angrboða’s and breathing in deeply through his nose. “Thank you,” he said. All the unsaid things were in the words, too — _for worrying for me, for staying_ _… for loving me._

Then he pulled himself away and straightened up. His back popped as he arched his spine, and, yawning, retreated to the mouth of the cave. He took up a handful of snow and scrubbed himself down, shuffling a little to the side when Angrboða joined him.

“You know,” Loki said, conversational, “the _vi_ _ður stoatar_ won’t be skinning themselves.”

“Did you have to tear their throats out so violently?” Angrboða asked. “Those could have been nice pelts, once.”

“There are three dozen better ones within the royal suites,” Loki said dismissively, taking up a new handful of snow and eating it. “I’m hungry — I haven’t had anything for two nights.”

“Is this an invitation to stay?”

“One that will be retracted if you don’t skin the _vi_ _ður stoatar_ this instant.”

“Cruel Loki,” Angrboða purred, standing up to fetch the animals.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Diplomatic Solutions](https://archiveofourown.org/works/2670170) by [DragonTemple6](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonTemple6/pseuds/DragonTemple6)




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